


Holidays Both Good And Ominous

by VerdantVulpus



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angry Reindeer, Aziraphale loves Crowley, Candy Canes, Christmas, Crowley loves Aziraphale, Crowley on Trial, Cursed Ugly Sweater, Getting Together, Ghost Stories, Holidays, Inescapable Winter Wonderland, Juggernaut Snowman, Liches Be Crazy, M/M, Mari Lwyd, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sancusto, Sometimes Silly, Sometimes Spooky, wassailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27770263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantVulpus/pseuds/VerdantVulpus
Summary: Aziraphale browbeats Crowley into some secluded ice-skating and the demon relents because he can't seem to say no to the angel anymore. Plus, there are worse things than being alone with Aziraphale in the middle of nowhere. He enjoys his one on one time and they are both more relaxed when they can speak freely without fear of being overheard. Could be a fun night. What's the worst that could happen?How did the angel find this place again?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 78





	1. Skating

**Author's Note:**

> Ghost stories used to be a common part of many Yuletide traditions. This is not a ghost story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale convinces Crowley to go ice skating at a secluded pond.

“Just once can’t you humour me without complaining?” Aziraphale chided. Crowley gave him a sardonic look, then glared at the snowy wonderland beyond the Bentley’s windscreen as the angel continued to browbeat him. “It will be nice to do something different, and the weather is perfect!”

“It absolutely isn’t,” Crowley scoffed. “The weather isn’t going to be 'perfect' until at least July,” he argued, terribly missing the hot days. “You know I don’t like the bloody cold, and yet you choose ice-skating, outdoors, after the sun has set! You do these things to torment me, Angel. Just admit it.”

“That isn’t really my line of work, dear,” Aziraphale chuckled, opening the door and letting the heat escape. “It really isn’t that cold, Crowley, and you’ll warm up once you get moving. Come on!”

The angel trudged through the snow towards the frozen pond and Crowley entertained a quick fantasy of starting the Bentley up again and driving home without him. His black gloved fingers twitched on the steering wheel as he fought the impulse to make the fantasy real. It might be funny for a bit, but it wouldn’t be worth the bickering in the long run.

The snow was just higher than his ankles as he hurried after the angel and even Crowley had to admit the sound of their feet crunching through the silent woods sounded great in that quality ASMR way. Aziraphale, snug in his cream coloured wool coat and tartan scarf and cap, looked back at him. His eyes shone with glee and Crowley fought to keep from returning that beaming smile. Wouldn’t do to let on that he liked seeing Aziraphale so happy. No telling what the angel would have him doing next.

“How did you find this place anyway?” he asked, looking around at the tall pines. It was a secluded little pond in the middle of nowhere. Crowley never would have found it without Aziraphale navigating off his little hand-drawn map.

“I met this lovely elderly gentleman while I was out for a walk this afternoon and he told me all about it,” Aziraphale told him, smiling warmly. He cleared the fresh layer of snow off the ice with a quick miracle then snapped his boots into ice skates and stepped out, getting his balance. “Apparently he used to come here every December with his late wife. I’m quite honoured he was willing to share the spot. It is so beautiful and private. Just you and me.”

_Just you and me_. 

Crowley cleared his throat and schooled his features to keep from blushing. Nearly everything had been just the two of them since they thwarted the Great War that summer and honestly, Crowley wouldn’t have had it any other way. The angel was really the only company he could stand.

“Oi! Don’t be going off too far on me,” he scolded the angel who was coasting around in a lazy circle. “You dragged me out here, the least you could do is keep me from falling on my bloody face.” He pointed aggressively to the spot on the pond before him and Aziraphale grinned as he smoothly skated up to him. 

“I promise not to let go of your arm,” Aziraphale vowed, extending his mittened hand. (Mittens! The goofball!) Crowley grumbled grouchily for show, snapped himself a pair of skates then wobbled out onto the ice to cling to the angel’s side. He kept his legs stiff and straight as Aziraphale gently took them around the pond in large slow circles. 

The snow had stopped falling and there were gaps starting in the clouds above them, showing glimpses of bright starlight. Crowley breathed in the crisp cold air, the scent of ice and pine and angel, and sniffed. He knew his nose must have been turning red from the cold so he tucked it under his wine-coloured cashmere scarf.

“Thank you for indulging me,” Aziraphale murmured, pulling Crowley closer ever so slightly. Crowley let himself be held as tightly as the angel chose. He was glad for the warmth, that’s all. And Aziraphale smelled nice.

"Yeah well, if my feet freeze into blocks of ice I fully expect you to wait on me while I convalesce," Crowley smirked.

"Of course," Aziraphale assured him wryly. "In the eventuality that you, a demon in full command of Hellfire, somehow freeze into ice, I will absolutely tend to your needs until you're well again."

"I don't use Hellfire to warm myself up, Angel" Crowley snickered. "Especially not with a flammable Principality so close by."

"You've used it frivolously in the past," Aziraphale countered. "You smoked for decades and never once used an actual lighter. Though I _do_ thank you for your concern over my safety."

"A flicker of flame to light a cigarette is different than what I'd need to conjure to feel warm again after you've frozen me solid," Crowley joked. "And you _should_ be grateful I care about your safety, since you're clearly very blasé about mine. Serpents are cold-blooded after all."

"So it would be cruel indeed for me to dump you and your bad attitude in the snowbank over there?" Aziraphale teased, gesturing at the far side of the pond where a fluffy looking drift had accumulated. Crowley frowned at it, then at the smug angel. "And you're only cold-blooded in your serpent form, silly demon," Aziraphale continued confidently. "You seem to generate a fair bit of body heat on your own otherwise."

Crowley blushed again and felt a surge of the aforementioned body heat. When had Aziraphale noticed _his body heat?_ Why did that sound salacious coming from the angel?

"Ah, well…" Crowley stammered, trying to get control of the conversation and steer it to safer topics. "Still feel the cold, is all I'm saying. This is very inconvenient for me. I'm saying you should consider yourself very lucky I'm doing this."

"Oh you are definitely going in the snowdrift now," Aziraphale threatened, skating across the pond and dragging Crowley along. 

"Angel…" Crowley warned, eyeing the cold snow warily. "I'm warning you…"

"It looks very soft, doesn't it?" Aziraphale exclaimed merrily, getting set to fling the demon in. Crowley wriggled out of the angel's grasp and easily skated to a safe distance leaving Aziraphale to gape after him.

"Oh, come on," Crowley jeered at him. "I've been on Earth just as long as you have. Did you really believe I never learned how to bloody _skate_?"

Aziraphale huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Should I be faulted for believing you?" he chided. "I suppose I ought to just assume you're being a deceitful ogre?"

Crowley smirked at the huffy angel and affected a charging posture. Instantly all of Aziraphale's prideful arrogance bled out of him and he looked back at Crowley with wide wary eyes.

"Oh, dont!" he cried.

"But you were going to toss me in a snow drift," Crowley cackled. "And that was when you believed I was helpless! At least you have a hope of evading me."

Aziraphale tried to look cross as he wagged a cautioning finger in Crowley's direction but he spluttered around a playful grin. Crowley launched himself forward and sped across the pond at the angel.

"Don't you dare! Don't you— CrowleeEEE!" Aziraphale screeched as Crowley barreled into him with a flying tackle and sent them both crashing into the snow.

"You absolute nightmare!" Aziraphale grumbled, a warm grumpy cushion between Crowley and the snow. Crowley grinned down at him, very pleased with himself, and Aziraphale's sour expression softened. They looked at each other quietly for a moment until Crowley began to feel that body heat issue creep up again. He quickly rolled off of Aziraphale and looked up at the sky. It was really starting to clear now and the stars shone brightly. Crowley looked up at them and smiled. 

A second later a large mitten-full of snow was deposited directly onto his face.

"Angel!" Crowley hissed, sitting upright and scrubbing the cold wet snow from his eyes.

"Oh stop," Aziraphale snickered. "Honestly, it serves you right."

Aziraphale chortled away as he slowly got to his feet. Crowley shrugged and followed suit, already planning his revenge. He joined the angel on the ice to find him staring off into the woods with a puzzled frown.

"Something wrong?" Crowley asked.

"I could have sworn I just saw the gentleman I spoke to this afternoon," Aziraphale told him, gesturing towards the darkness beyond the trees. Crowley scanned the treeline, blinking some of the remaining melted snow from his eyes. He thought he saw a flicker of movement off to their left. 

"I must be imagining things," Aziraphale laughed at himself. 

Crowley frowned, peering towards where he saw the movement, a chill creeping up his spine, until a deer stepped out from behind one of the smaller trees. Crowley swore under his breath and rolled his eyes at himself. Some demon he was, jumping at bloody shadows.

"Aw, poor frightened angel," he teased, skating a tight loop around Aziraphale. "All alone in the dark."

"Alone?" Aziraphale ticked his brow at that. "Are you planning on abandoning me?"

"Would I do that?" Crowley asked with mock outrage, as if it hadn't crossed his mind when they got here. "I just didn't figure I counted, being as I'm evil and quite at home in the dark."

"Oh yes, I see," Aziraphale nodded, playing along. "Terribly evil, absolutely. I'm very worried."

Crowley completed another circle around the angel before sliding in behind him. "Good," he hissed in Aziraphale's ear. "Now, how about we break into that hot cocoa you brought?"

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Cocoa and Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale warm up with some hot drinks but everything isn't as it seems.

They crunched through the thick snow and the Bentley's boot sprang open to reveal Aziraphale's little basket of goodies, including two large thermoses. One was striped blue and gold and the other was a solid burgundy. Crowley hid his sad smile as the angel passed him the red one. 

He assumed the lack of tartan on the thermoses was intentional and wondered if it pained Aziraphale to get them. He nodded his thanks and they both leaned against the rear fender while they warmed up a bit.

Crowley snapped himself into a pair of warm fur-lined boots, giving up being suavely fashionable in order to be comfortable. He would never admit it out loud but he was enjoying himself a little. He was enjoying being out with Aziraphale in a safe little adventure, watching the angel smile over the rim of a steaming mug. He wasn’t going to spoil it with frozen feet.

Besides, Aziraphale wouldn’t recognize fashionable if it somehow bit him so Crowley could always say his boots were designer if the angel happened to ask.

But Aziraphale wasn’t looking at Crowley’s feet. His eyes were closed as he breathed in the sweet steam from his cocoa. He gave a pleasant little hum and wiggled contentedly before taking a sip. Crowley watched, familiar with the process, waiting for the second wiggle to confirm the angel’s enjoyment. There. The cocoa passed the test.

Content that Aziraphjale was content, Crowley finally opened his own thermos and took a scalding gulp of the apple cider. It burned going down his throat and warmed his belly. Being a demon and all, Crowley found the whole thing comforting.

“You like getting out of London?” he asked, feeling the need to break the silence.

“I suppose I do,” Aziraphale answered after a thoughtful pause. “For a little while at least. It is nice to be somewhere quiet for a bit.”

“Quiet,” Crowley snorted. “Don’t you basically live in a library?”

“I live in a bookshop,” the angel corrected. “A bookshop in Soho, I might add. Happily surrounded by books. Seldom by actual quiet.”

“Ah, I must be spoiling it then,” Crowley joked, (although not really). “With all my chattering. Not usually the quiet type, me. Not if I’m awake, anyway.” He pretended to be fascinated with the rim of the thermos, inwardly cursing himself for getting too real during this supposedly merry winter outing.

“Not when you’re asleep either, as it happens,” Aziraphale teased. Crowley looked up from his thermos warily, unsure what the angel was getting at. “You mutter and hiss and sigh. You don’t seem to enjoy your dreams very much,” Aziraphale continued, then blushed and looked down.

Crowley chewed the inside of his cheek and tried very  _ very _ hard not to brood. No more sleeping on the sofa at the bookshop, that’s for sure. He never considered he might make noise in his sleep. What if he started talking in his sleep? What if he started talking in his sleep and had a dream about the angel?! No. No more sleeping at the shop, no matter how cozy that spot by the window was. Too bloody dangerous. 

He took another fortifying gulp of sugary sweet cider. Aziraphale seemed to be indulging heavily in the cocoa as well, hiding his embarrassment behind his thermos.

"Nnnn... I was just wondering if you wanted me to shut up a bit," he clarified, hoping to get away from the discomfort he was feeling now. "...Let you enjoy the quiet. I saw a deer over there. Maybe it will come out and say hello."

"Oh, did you?" Aziraphale brightened at the mention of wildlife. "How lovely. Festive too!"

"Wasn't a  _ reindeer _ , Angel," Crowley smirked.

"Well, we could pretend," Aziraphale swatted his arm. "But there is no need for you to be quiet, Crowley. You know I adore your company."

Did he? Did Crowley know that? He  _ wanted _ to know that. He wanted to  _ believe _ it in his marrow.

"Cheers to good company then," Crowley offered, raising his thermos. Aziraphale beamed bright enough to light up the night.

"The very best," the angel toasted, clinking Crowley's thermos with his own. Crowley hid his pleased grin by taking another sip.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, as they often did lately. Even the sounds of the forest had fallen quiet, the softer noises muffled by all the snow.

Crowley leaned his back against the car to gaze back up at the sky and sighed. He'd feel compelled to go back to complaining soon, but he could admit to himself at least that he was having a good time. 

He liked being with Aziraphale and although he spent a lot more time with the angel than he'd had the privilege to before, they were always surrounded by humans, or books or some other distraction. It felt special to be truly alone with him.

He just wished he could shake that eerie feeling of something being wrong.

"It really did turn out to be a lovely night," Aziraphale sighed beside him. "Even you have to agree."

Crowley didn't answer. He heard the angel's words as he narrowed his eyes at the sky. Cold was seeping through his thick clothing, or maybe it was dread.

"We need to go, Angel," he kept his voice low, his tone light. "Don't make it obvious. Just get in the car."

Aziraphale's posture changed subtly beside him. There was a beat where Crowley worried the fussy blonde would argue but he merely closed his thermos tightly, set it in the basket again, then wordlessly returned to his seat in the Bentley.

Crowley scanned the treeline again, looking for further signs of trouble, but everything was ominously still. Nothing moved.

Crowley dropped his own closed thermos and slammed the boot, racing back into his seat and turning the car on. Aziraphale gasped when he abruptly put the car in reverse and sped away from the pond. 

"What is happening, Crowley?" the angel demanded as he grappled with his seatbelt. "What's wrong?"

"The stars are wrong," Crowley growled, finally turning the car around so they could properly tear down the narrow country road. He gripped the steering wheel and forced himself not to panic. He had seen weird phenomena before but nothing that changed the sky like this.

"What do you mean the stars are wrong?" Aziraphale snapped, obviously thinking Crowley had lost his mind. Maybe he had.

But he knew the stars. Wherever he was on Earth, he knew the stars. What he'd seen above him was a mess, a random smattering of twinkling lights. 

Those weren't real stars. Crowley had no idea what that could possibly mean, but he  _ knew _ they weren't real stars.

The taste of cider turned bitter on his tongue, like something herbaceous and acrid.

Beside him Aziraphale made a distasteful noise and spit into a kerchief. 

They shared a quick worried glance and Crowley urged the Bentley to go faster.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Balsam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are forced to leave the relative safety of the Bentley and meet their captor.

"Wottya think? This your side or mine?" Crowley asked, pulling the Bentley out of another skid. He should have reached the main road by now. Where was it?!

"Well, considering I haven't a side anymore other than ours, I shouldn't think this is my side, no," Aziraphale sniffed. Crowley took a second from anxiously peering into the darkness beyond his headlights to shoot the angel an absolutely necessary shit-for-brains look.

"Really, Angel? You're a bloody pedant right now?" Crowley spat. "Is that really the most helpful thing you could be doing?"

"No, you're right," Aziraphale admitted. "This doesn't feel angelic to me. I rather suspect if Heaven intended to trap us there would be more manhandling."

"Same," Crowley muttered, "this is too clever to be demons. Too… creative."

The Bentley's tires slid in the slush again and Crowley swore a string of vile oaths, venting his frustration while calmly steering the car against the skid. The car spun twice and plunged into a large snowdrift. Crowley growled and smacked his palm against the dash. He'd been driving at ridiculous speeds for years. He knew how to do a controlled skid. That snowbank bloody moved. He said as much but Aziraphale looked unconvinced.

The Bentley's radio coughed a sudden burst of static before launching into Queen's ' _Thank God It's Christmas'._

"Don't think it's ever played that one before…"

"It's a bit loud," Aziraphale winced, reaching for the volume knob. The volume increased. Crowley risked another sideways look, feeling immensely irritated.

"Down is the other way," he snapped. Aziraphale gave him a shirty look in return. 

"Volume dials have existed far longer than your infernal automobile, Crowley. I think I can manage to operate one."

Crowley grumbled to himself. It wasn't the angel's fault this was happening, and they would need to cooperate in order to figure out who was behind this and how to get out. No good having Aziraphale in a snit.

Quick. Make a joke. " I dunno. Could be all sorts of volume knobs. Like, maybe south of the equator…"

Aziraphale's scowl lightened and now he just fixed the demon with a bewildered look. Crowley grinned back at him. "Like in Australia maybe? Maybe they go the other way?" 

Aziraphale snorted in wry amusement and Crowley knew his snappishness had been forgiven.

"You're ridiculous," the angel murmured, rolling his eyes, but he leaned in to companionably bump Crowley's shoulder with his. "Are your powers working? I'm afraid my miracles aren't." He snapped his fingers a couple times to illustrate his point. Crowley shook his head. His powers were deadened too. He'd tried to warp space around them to get them home when he figured out the stars were wrong.

"I suppose we should get out and face what's out there," Aziraphale said without enthusiasm.

"Muueghh, s'cold out there though," Crowley complained. And something was hunting them. The angel could get hurt.

The Bentley coughed again, the engine making a threatening sound. Crowley glared at the dashboard. "Don't you fucking dare," he growled but the Bentley had never been intimidated by the demon and decided it wasn't going to start tonight. The engine died without fanfare lighting the control panel up with flashing green and red lights. Crowley stared at them, deadpan. 

"Festive," Aziraphale muttered wryly before opening the door. Crowley growled again as the Bentley continued to blast music louder and louder until he too was forced from the presumed safety of the vehicle. Aziraphale was a little ways up the road, and Crowley had to jog to catch up. This did not improve his mood.

“At least it smells nice out here,” Aziraphale murmured, always looking for silver linings. Crowley looked up at the cloudless sky and the smattering of incorrect stars. No silver lining there. He supposed the heavy scent of balsam would have to do. 

They trudged along the road for nearly a kilometer as Crowley got colder and colder. He kept sneaking glances at the angel, but Aziraphale looked as comfortable, if anxious, as he always did. Crowley wrapped his arms around himself, grateful he’d snapped on heavy boots at least before the power outage. His feet weren’t too badly off, but the rest of him was starting to shiver pretty badly. He was contemplating how ‘leaving a stylish corpse’ held up as silver linings go, when he tasted the scent of woodsmoke on the night air. 

And where there was smoke, there was some bloody heat!

“This way, Angel,” Crowley ordered through chattering teeth, steering Aziraphale into the woods by the elbow.

“Where are we going?” the angel asked, warily picking his way through the snow after the suddenly very motivated demon. Crowley’s eyes pierced the darkness, trying to pinpoint the source of the fragrant smoke through the dense fir trees. The eerie stillness was working in his favour this time. There was no wind to carry the scent away while freezing him all the faster. He pushed his way through the boughs of needles, unconsciously reaching back to clasp Aziraphale’s mittened hand. It would be just his luck to become separated in this uncannily dense forest. 

The scent of smoke grew stronger, and finally he sensed the warmth ahead. Shivering nearly to the point of his legs giving out, he shoved his way through the last bit of heavy fir needles and collapsed into a snowy clearing. Aziraphale dropped to his knees beside him protectively, and they both looked over the glowing expanse of snow to the roaring bonfire. An elderly man sat wrapped in thick furs on a rustic wooden bench.

“Oh, It’s him,” Aziraphale frowned. “The gentleman who told me about the pond.”

Crowley wasn’t the least bit surprised. He’d begun to suspect the man-who-told-Aziraphale-about-the-pond of being behind this when they were still back at said pond. He didn’t know if the geezer was a demon or an angel or just some arsehole magic user who thought Aziraphale was an easy mark. 

It wasn’t until they lost their powers that the notion really started to worry the demon. Until then he’d figured so long as he had Aziraphale with him they stood a fair chance of trouncing whoever was behind this.

Seeing the man here, alone no less, just pissed Crowley right off. Of all the damned nerve!

“If he’s the one who’s trapped us here, I’ll throw him into that fire,” Crowley hissed, struggling to his feet with Aziraphale’s help. They approached the crackling fire cautiously and the man smiled placidly at them. 

“You look cold,” he told them, his quiet voice floating to them strangely, as though from a distance far greater than the few feet between them now. “Come warm up by the fire, friends. I’ll share my furs.”

“Thanks,” Crowley grumbled suspiciously, taking the stitched skins, and wrapping them, fur side in, around himself. He was furious, and still pretty close to murderous, but he was also seriously, horribly, painfully cold! The furs were heavy and soft, and brought back memories of winters long ago. The fire popped, fragrant balsam resin bubbling out of the logs and hissing on the coals. The heat lapped out at the demon temptingly, and Crowley shuffled close enough to just barely avoid singing the tips of the hides.

“Have you brought us here for a reason?” Aziraphale questioned the man, getting down to business while Crowley concentrated on easing the frigid ache out of his skinny body.

“I have,” the old man answered with another friendly smile. They waited for him to elaborate, but the man seemed uninterested in the topic. “Did you enjoy the pond? Isn’t it the loveliest?”

“Very charming,” the angel responded. “Although I’m curious how you slipped something into our drinks.”

“I’m sorry for that,” the man responded without answering the question. “However, it wouldn’t be sporting to have you miracling yourselves out of this little game of ours.”

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a quick glance. Whoever this was knew they weren’t human.

“Are you a witch?” Crowley grumbled.

“Yes,” the man responded, then frowned. “I’m sorry, lad. Did you say ‘lich’ or ‘witch’?

“Witch, obviously,” Crowley snapped.

“Oh, my mistake,” the man answered. “Then no.”

“Right, then, into the fire you go,” Crowley threatened, grabbing the old man by the front of his dark red coat. He was shockingly light and the demon lifted him easily. “I assume whatever foul magic this is will die when you do,” he snarled. The man continued to smile, unafraid.

“We are not going to murder the man,” Aziraphale objected, putting a firm hand on Crowley’s arm. “Put him down, Crowley. Let’s deal with this in a civilized manner, please.”

Crowley growled resentfully and set the man down on his feet. Let the angel explore their options. Roasting the codger was still a viable contingency.

“Who are you, and what do you want with us?” Aziraphale demanded. 

“Humans never appreciate my winter wonderland,” the man sighed in a very ‘kids these days’ tone. “They never last long enough to see it all. Imagine my profound glee to come across two immortal beings to share it with!”

“Nah,” Crowley sneered. “Spending eternity in your frigid pine forest doesn't really fit into my plans.”

“They’re fir trees, technically,” Aziraphale offered, ever the helpful idiot.

“Thank you, Aziraphale,” the man smiled. “Details matter, in this world. You’ll need to keep your wits about you if you hope to survive the night.”

“There it is,” Crowley grumbled. “There it bloody is! He’s evil, Angel. Can I please toss him in the fire now?”

Aziraphale seemed to consider it for a moment. “We don’t know that would do anything, my dear. We don’t know what he is.”

The man frowned. “Ah, a shame,” he sighed. “I already gave you the answer. You seemed so promising when I spoke to you earlier. Such a keen bright mind. Shame.” 

He turned to Crowley then, smiling as Aziraphale spluttered in indignation. His eyes burned with an eerie blue light and he shook out a floppy dark red hat before donning it. “Best of luck to you, lads,” he laughed before stepping into the fire.

Crowley and Aziraphale both watched in consternation and horror respectively as the man cheerfully waved from the flames before unraveling himself into a pile of flaming rags and sending himself up in smoke.


	4. Candy Canes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale try to escape the cursed forest as the temperature begins to drop at an alarming rate.

“We’re  _ sure _ he said lich?” Aziraphale asked for the third time as Crowley dragged him back through the thick fir trees.

“It rhymed with ‘witch’ and I didn’t hear a hard consonant at the start so it definitely wasn’t bit—”

“Crowley!” 

Crowley turned around and shushed the angel. Who knew what was waiting for them in this forest! It was dark, and although he could see perfectly well, he doubted his senses were better than whatever preternatural monstrosities that nightmarish old man could dream up. Best not to be shouting in indignation over mild cussing.

“Yes, I’m sure he said ‘lich’” Crowley answered. “Now stop clutching your pearls and tell me everything you know about liches while I try to find our way back to the car.”

“Well… they aren’t  _ real _ , for a start,” Aziraphale huffed. “They’re nothing but morbid additions to sword and sorcery books. Perhaps he’s a demon?”

“Not a demon,” Crowley hissed. As if he wouldn’t have recognized a fellow demon. He’d been close enough to the lich (because until he definitely knew otherwise, the old man was a  _ lich _ ) to smell any lingering brimstone on him if there had been any. He’d smelled like old peppermints, but there hadn’t been so much as a whiff of sulfur about him.

“Well, I suppose… and this is stretching credulity quite a bit… but I  _ suppose… _ ”

Crowley shivered and shot an angry look over his shoulder as Aziraphale waffled his way around whatever idea he was having. It felt like it was getting colder by the minute so he was disinclined to wait however many hours it might take the angel to get comfortable with his thoughts.

“Angel, spit it out already,” he pleaded. “I’m going to freeze to death before you finish your bloody sentence!”

Aziraphale huffed again, clearly frustrated with this conversation. “Only that if this gentleman were a lost soul of some sort, perhaps he’s thought of himself as a lich,” he suggested weakly. “Perhaps he’s become twisted in his undeath and needs to be brought to rest.

“A ghost,” Crowley translated. “An angry ghost obsessed with trite holiday nonsense.” The theory was more sound than any the demon had come up with though. “All right. Tell me everything you know about ghosts then.”

“It isn’t much, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale frowned. “Are you all right, dear? I can hear your teeth chattering.”

“M’cold!” he growled.

“The temperature does seem to be dropping,” Aziraphale agreed anxiously. “But you seem to be feeling it worse than I am.”

Crowley nodded. He’d always felt the cold more. He could remember many winters with the angel and Aziraphale had always seemed more comfortable in the cold than Crowley. The damp and chill seemed to seep into Crowley’s brittle bones hours before Aziraphale would even shiver. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale fretted. He didn’t turn around to look but he could hear the fretting in the angel’s voice. He was going to say something troubling, and Crowley clenched his jaw against the uncontrolled clacking of his teeth, feeling this all deeply unfair that he should have to hear something  _ troubling  _ at the moment when he was already so deep in the shit.

“I’m afraid we need to come up with a better plan, dear,” Aziraphale continued. “The Bentley is dead, remember?”

“S’not  _ dead _ !” Crowley barked, fighting the sudden memories of his beloved car collapsing in flames. “The battery was still working. Just stalled out when we hit the snow. We’ll push her back onto the road and she’ll start right up.”

“The dashboard was lit up with red and green, and it was belting out Christmas carols at an alarming volume,” Aziraphale reminded him. Crowley scowled. That  _ did _ seem problematic given what they’d recently discovered. “I’m afraid this spirit doesn’t want us to use your vehicle to escape his little game and has taken that piece off the board.”

“S’only idea I’ve got,” Crowley hissed, forcing his legs to keep going. “Open to suggestions if you’ve got any, but I gotta keep moving or I’ll drop.”

“I can carry you if you like,” Aziraphale offered and Crowley was now forced to glare at him over his shoulder again. He knew the angel was strong, but he absolutely  _ wouldn’t  _ be carrying Crowley anywhere. He’d rather die of cold than humiliation, thanks. The threat of being carried made him trudge along a little faster. Aziraphale grumbled something about the intractability of demons as if the Principality wasn’t the single most stubborn entity on the bloody planet.

The wind howled loudly through the trees behind them and, seconds later, they were raked by an icy gale. Crowley squeaked in surprised displeasure, eyes wide as fractals of frost began to creep over his glasses. The metal began to bite from the cold and the demon was finally forced to pull the glasses off and tuck them away in his pocket. He sighed miserably as the trees shook around him. Another three steps and he found himself sliding gracelessly down into the snow, his body rebelling against his pride and succumbing to the unyielding cold.

“Fffff….fuckckckckckck…” he groaned, the sound of his chattering teeth rattling loudly in his skull. “Avenge me, Angel.”

“Honestly,” Aziraphale grumbled, scooping the demon up in his arms. Crowley tucked his face under the angel’s warm chin, blissfully absorbing the comforting heat there. His pride forgotten at the first kiss of warmth, he now seriously considered slipping into his smallest serpent form and snuggling down under the angel’s coat and drinking in the heat against his chest. The thought of touching that much of Aziraphale’s skin made his heart skip a beat and snapped him out of his daydream. He probably couldn’t change into a snake anymore anyway.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, hugging Crowley tighter to him as they stepped into yet another small clearing. Crowley unhooked his nose from Aziraphale’s jaw to take in their new surroundings. The forest closed around them in a near perfect circle. At the centre of the clearing stood an absolutely immense pine tree ( _ actually _ pine this time, since Aziraphale would be quick to correct him. A  _ white  _ pine to be exact.) An ornate golden altar draped in dark red velvet stood proudly under the long drooping needles of the pine. It might have been a beautiful scene if everything in this cursed forest wasn’t a damned trap. ( _ And  _ if the altar wasn’t standing between two old gravestones, but at this point that was pretty much on par with Crowley’s expectations). 

“Clues,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding almost excited. He shifted Crowley easily into one arm (robbing the demon of the last lingering thread of his dignity) and approached the graves.

The first read Margorie Sancusto, loving wife and mother. The second grave read Nikoli Sancusto, loving husband and father. Neither marker supplied any dates, but at least they now had a name.

“Ssssupportsss your theory we’re ddddealing with a ggghossst,” Crowley chattered and hissed while trying to press himself tighter against the angel. 

“Sancusto,” Aziraphale read quietly. “I don’t recognize the name, do you?”

Crowley shook his head and tucked his hands up his opposite sleeves. The name didn’t ring a bell, and he wasn’t sure how it could make it a difference to their plight. He was more interested in the altar, and the two little boxes that had just appeared upon it. Aziraphale noticed them too and moved closer.

They were small gift boxes, about eight centimetres long. One wrapped in shiny black with a stylized capital C. The other in cream coloured paper with a capital A in gold. Crowley whined when he saw them. Another trap and it was already so bloody cold!

“I suppose we should open them,” Aziraphale sighed, passing Crowley his. The demon’s fingers barely worked and he fumbled with the box and Aziraphale took pity on him and opened it for him. Inside was a single red and white candy cane. They stared at it in surprise for a moment, then the angel opened his box to find a similar candy cane in white and tan.

“I hate this,” Crowley grumbled. “I just want ttttto say that for the record. This is absolute bollocksss.”

“Noted, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, giving his candy cane a cautious sniff. “Oh dear. Butterscotch,” he mused in disappointment.

Crowley could smell the fragrant peppermint of his own candy and it reminded him of the lich,  _ Sancusto _ , and filled him with a fresh simmering fury. 

“I suppose we’re meant to eat these?” Aziraphale frowned, looking almost insulted by the notion.

“Anything that unddddead fart wantsss us to do is bbbbound to be a bad fucking idea,” Crowley grumbled.

"Normally I'd agree, but you're turning blue," Aziraphale countered with a worried frown. "I fear he's put a clock on this game. Doing nothing isn't an option either."

Crowley considered trying to laugh the concern off but he was finally at the point where he was forced to admit he was in danger. The cold was beginning to burn.

"Lemme go first," he muttered. "Jussst in case".

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale admonished him. "You're not faring well as it is, dear. If there is some foul trick to this, I should be the one to endure it."

Crowley narrowed his eyes up at the angel before stubbornly stuffing the infernal candy cane into his mouth. Aziraphale cried a wordless exclamation of anguished surprise as the demon crunched his icy teeth through the brittle sugar, thick sweet mint sliding down his throat.

_ Something  _ happened.

He couldn't understand  _ what _ happened exactly, but his vision blacked out and he was surrounded by warm air. At first all Crowley felt was the overwhelming sense of relief as he began to thaw. He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on the old sofa in the back room of the bookshop. All his useless winter garb had vanished and he was dressed in his usual attire. He peered up at the ceiling, listening for danger. The shop was fully lit but deathly quiet.

"Aziraphale?" he whispered. "Angel, where are—"

Aziraphale appeared suddenly and inexplicably directly on top of him, muffling the rest of Crowley's question with a mouthful of wool jumper as the angel collapsed against him. Crowley was nearly as shocked by the angel’s entrance as he was entertained by what he was wearing!

"Crowley! You're safe!" Aziraphale gasped in relief, cupping the demon's still-cold cheeks in warm soft hands. "You vanished on me! I had no idea if eating  _ my  _ candy cane would take me to you but I had to try. _ Please don't do that again! _ "

"At least it's warmer," Crowley shrugged, trying not to rub his cheek into the angel's palm like a cat. 

"Oh dear, I must be just  _ crushing  _ you," Aziraphale blushed, scooting off the demon and perching himself on the sofa’s armrest. Crowley sat himself up, schooling his features to hide his disappointment. The angel had been comfy and warm. There were much worse fates than being "crushed" by Aziraphale.

He snapped to summon his glasses to hide his eyes as was his want. The snap echoed in the still shop but no sunglasses appeared. 

"I suppose we're still playing this blasted — Qh for Heaven's sake, what am I  _ wearing! _ ?"

Crowley was wondering when the angel would notice the horrendously, yet intentionally hideous holiday jumper. He burst out in cackling laughter.

"It's called an 'ugly sweater', Angel," Crowley snickered. "One of Hell's little jokes. Don't you like it?"

"I think you know I don't," Aziraphale huffed, pulling the jumper off. His arms stopped at the shoulder, unable to pull the garment up any further. "Help me, would you?"

Crowley swallowed hard, his hands shaking again at the angel's request to undress him, even in this context. It was almost a relief to Crowley when the jumper refused to be removed.

The pattern of garish decoration shifted across the front as Aziraphale angrily yanked the jumper back into place. They both frowned as the little red, green, and white pom-poms spelled out "Yule Be Sorry!".

Aziraphale made a disquieted sound and shot Crowley a nervous look.

"I think it is getting tighter," the angel gulped and Crowley was no longer relieved or entertained.

  
  
  



	5. Ugly Jumper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is trapped in a cursed ugly jumper and Crowley is the only one who can help him. Unfortunately, that means the angel will have to let the demon near his prized books...

_“It's been said that books are what you love the most,_

_Turn to them now and Yule be toast,_

_The solution now can only be Keened_

_If you put your faith in a noble fiend,”_

Aziraphale shook his head distastefully and put the card down on the empty gift box. They’d discovered it on his front counter, appearing freshly opened, as though Aziraphale would ever rush to put on a garment so atrociously garish, let alone one that accompanied a threatening note!

He wasn’t sure what offended him more, the terrible rhymes or the terrible pun. Probably the threat of discorporation via tacky jumper but it was a near thing.

“Noble,” Crowley snorted. “Pfft… insult to injury, that.”

“Well?” Aziraphale asked the demon, expectantly. “Your turn to tell me what you know about cursed jumpers.”

Crowley actually laughed. Honestly! At a time like this! 

“Right, so… the thing about ugly Christmas jumpers is that they sort of _are_ the curse,” Crowley continued, taking out his mobile. He grinned and snapped a few pictures of Aziraphale who glowered at him in return. “Started it up as a lark when I saw all these corporate types fussing over their office parties. They think they’re being cool and ironic but it chips away at the beauty of the holidays every time someone inflicts another person’s eyeballs with these naff jumpers.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and stomped into the back room but Crowley’s snickering followed him with the occasional camera snap. If the demon was intent on being useless then the angel would just have to solve this himself. Fortunately, they were in the best possible place they could be for such a dire emergency. He hurried up the spiral staircase to his mezzanine where he kept his research books. 

The moment he reached the first row of shelves the jumper gave an unexpected squeeze and all Aziraphale’s breath (and very nearly his cocoa) was expelled from his body at once. He dropped to the floor in a painful heap. Crowley was at his side at once, pulling him away from the shelves. The cursed knit released its hold on his ribs at once.

“Y’all right?” Crowley asked, almost as breathless as Aziraphale. The demon peered at him, his golden eyes wide with concern behind his tinted glasses. Aziraphale continued gulping in breaths as Crowley stroked his back in a comforting way. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been held like this by Crowley before... Or _anyone_ , really. Aziraphale was the one who offered others comfort, and he knew well enough not to touch the demon unless necessary. Crowley hated affection. He hated it, and it meant so very much to Aziraphale that Crowley was offering him it now anyway. He looked up at the redhead (he really is so lovely) and nodded that he was no longer in imminent danger. Crowley’s concern immediately transmuted into annoyance and the comforting back rub turned into a sharp cuff upside Aziraphale’s head.

“You stupid bloody twit!” Crowley scolded him. “You were told not to use your books! Who knows what that could’ve done to you.”

“If you cant help me then what else am I to do?” Aziraphale demanded,

“Who says I can't help?” Crowley snorted. “S’posed to be a game, right? We’re meant to puzzle it out.”

“You tried to pull the wretched thing off me and that only made it tighter,” Aziraphale warned.

“ _Details are important_ , remember?” Crowley winked at him and his confidence somehow made Aziraphale more nervous. “The card didn’t say _I_ couldn’t use your books.”

“I’m sure it meant both of us,” Aziraphale told him quickly, his heart racing.

“Let’s find out,” Crowley said, standing again and striding purposefully toward the shelves. Aziraphale whined fearfully as the demon ran his hand along the spines of the books. He looked back at the angel who was still breathing. Crowley smiled. “See? I can do the research for you! Not gonna be exactly fun for either of us, but I bet that's the point.”

“But you won’t know where to even look!” Aziraphale argued. “When was the last time you did research?”

“I _can_ read, you know,” Crowley snapped. “In several languages in fact. And if you think some of my schemes don’t require research, you’re completely daft.”

“You get someone else to do it for you, I suspect,” Aziraphale countered, and Crowley grumbled something insulting that none-the-less told him he was right. Crowley pulled a book down and dropped it on the reading desk between the first two shelves, looking up in alarm when Aziraphale squeaked in distress.

Aziraphale felt himself begin to sweat. He felt ill. Crowley frowned and returned to him once again, running his long fingers up and down the angel’s back once more as Aziraphale struggled to keep from crying.

“It’s fine, innit?” Crowley asked nervously. “Did something else happen to you when I touched the books?”

“You must be careful with them! They’re very precious to me,” Aziraphale cried, his heart in his throat. No one touched these books. They were priceless and perfectly in order. Crowley had a habit of being rough with his books, cracking their spines, dog-earing pages. He no doubt did it on purpose to annoy the angel, but Aziraphale had seen the odd paperback in the back of the Bentley with coffee spilled across it and creases folded into their covers…

“You’re worried about your books,” Crowley deadpanned. 

“You must promise me you will be careful, Crowley _please_.”

“Fine. Promise,” Crowley crossed his heart with a finger, but Aziraphale didn’t find the eye roll reassuring. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll start _carefully_ finding a way to break the curse.”

“Wait!” Aziraphale blurted, halting Crowley mid-step. The demon turned back and Aziraphale blushed and fidgeted with his watch. “Maybe you could… wash your hands first?”

“Seriously?”

“Well, you were just eating sweets, and—”

“Hells Below! Fine!”

Hands freshly washed and dried, the wily serpent of Eden became the first entity other than Aziraphale to touch these books since they’d come into the angel’s possession. The jumper remained uncomfortably tight, but not dangerously constrictive as the demon pawed through the first volume, but Aziraphale’s mental anguish was distressingly acute. He winced at every careless page flip.

“I can hear you whinging over there,” Crowley growled. “If you’re bored, go make some tea or something.”

Aziraphale huffed. That very nearly sounded like the sort of thing he’d say to the demon if he were being obnoxious while Aziraphale were trying to read. 

“I don’t think you’ll find the answer in _that_ book,” Aziraphale huffed. “There are better books on curses at—” the jumper squeezed, cutting off his air in another painful squeak. He turned away and the jumper let go again. Blast! He couldn’t even give direction?!

“I think you better just leave this to me, Angel,” Crowley told him, his voice dripping with ‘ _I told you so’_.

Having little choice otherwise, Aziraphale put his faith in Crowley and set about distracting himself best he could with minor chores. It was difficult going at times in the stifling jumper. The knit tugged and pulled at him as he tried to dust the shelves downstairs or organize his pantry. This was all terribly bothersome and the angel was dashed uncomfortable. 

Crowley, perhaps in a bid to make this somewhat more bearable for the angel, started treating the books with more care. He turned the pages slowly, jotting notes on a freshly summoned notepad. Aziraphale looked up at the demon as he worked, now surrounded by books, his glasses pushed up on his head. He absently tapped the pen against his teeth as he studied the book in front of him. He looked completely focused and Aziraphale realized with a small bit of surprise that the demon had been at it for hours.

Aziraphale was sure he would have found the answer in half the time it was taking the demon, but he was also familiar with all his books and knew where to look. The poor dear had to comb through these mammoth tomes, and it wasn’t as though most of them had a proper index.

Maybe Aziraphale would create one when they got out of this. That seemed a fitting project for the cold wet months.

He watched Crowley work and began to feel better about the whole thing. The demon was being respectful and diligently doing a job he no doubt hated with a dedication Aziraphale truly didn’t expect. Crowley had figured he was the one who would have to do the reading and set about the task without even properly complaining about it. Honestly, putting his faith in Crowley shouldn’t have been that frightening. He’d trusted Crowley with so many other things. He should have known the demon wouldn’t risk treating Aziraphale’s books as carelessly as his own.

He really was a good person, after all, to care about Aziraphale as much as he did. That thought brought a bright flush to his cheeks, and he pulled at the neck of the jumper, feeling a bit overly warm. A funny thought, Crowley caring about Aziraphale, but the angel had to admit Crowley had been every bit as sweet and kind to him as he’d been sharp and nasty. And the nastiness was seldom in a way that mattered, whereas the care… it always seemed to matter a great deal.

Smiling fondly now, Aziraphale took in the studious demon, surrounded by piles of books, pen in hand, and wanted to capture the moment. Taking a cue from the demon’s earlier mockery, Aziraphale found his camera in the little closet behind the stairs and snapped a few pictures of his own. 

“Found it,” Crowley cheered, holding up a small red booklet that was _certainly_ not part of the angel’s collection. “Well, didn’t _find_ it so much as it showed up,” the demon amended, thumbing through the booklet as he descended the stairs. “Must have just had to spend enough time reading texts dryer than a nun’s twat before it showed.”

“Must have,” Aziraphale murmured after the requisite noises of complaint at the demon’s vulgarity. “What does it say?”

Crowley held up a silencing finger as he read, a puzzled frown etched across his angular face. Aziraphale bit his lip nervously. The demon glanced at him, then down at the booklet, then back again before closing the distance between them. 

“See if this works,” Crowley grumbled, blushing slightly. He hesitated for a moment, then wrapped his long arms around Aziraphale in an embrace tight enough to feel it over the vise-like jumper. The angel blinked in surprise and returned the hug, closing his eyes and trying to memorize everything about the moment.

“You’re doing a good job,” Crowley murmured into his ear. “You know, with managing everything after that flop of an apocalypse. Can’t have been easy on you, being cut off from Heaven.”

Aziraphale felt rather breathless all over again at the demon’s soft words. It hadn’t been easy to leave Heaven’s employ, and at the same time, it had been the easiest thing he’d ever done. Most of Heaven he didn’t miss in the least, but the parts that he did… 

It hurt more than he could ever admit, especially to Crowley who had suffered far worse in his Fall.

“Thank you dear,” Aziraphale whispered back. “Truthfully… this has been a difficult holiday season for me.”

“Ah, well I’m sure getting abducted by a lich and forced to play some Christmas themed game must have helped immensely,” Crowley snorted, giving Aziraphale’s back a light pat before stepping out of the embrace. Their hands lingered, however, lightly clasping each other's arms as they smiled at one another.

“Not in the least,” Aziraphale chuckled. “But, deadly games aside, I’m happy to spend the holiday with you,” he admitted, hoping he wasn’t being overly sentimental. Sentiment was also high on the list of things that made Crowley particularly sour.

“I should bloody hope so,” Crowley responded lightly, as he grasped the horrid jumper by the hem and easily pulled it off over the angel’s head. “Saved the day again, din’ I?”

Aziraphale gave a loud whoop of relief and threw his arms around Crowley once again. A hug and a kind word? That was the oddest curse removal Aziraphale had ever witnessed, but one couldn’t argue with results. 

The demon laughed a bit in surprise at the sudden burst of affection, and his face was nearly as red as his hair, but he didn’t object. He grinned happily at Aziraphale and the angel felt his heart begin to beat excitedly all over again and then Crowley disappeared in a puff of cinnamon scented smoke. The angel’s arms grasped at air, causing him to stumble as the demon vanished. A second later and the bookshop vanished as well, leaving Aziraphale in the centre of a small courtroom. The furnishings appeared late seventeenth century. 

Crowley was seated behind one of the tables, his wrists and ankles shackled together and chained to the floor. The demon shook himself out of some sort of stupor before noticing the restraints. He scowled and attempted a few angry yanks against the chains, but the shackles held fast. Aziraphale joined him and tried his own strength against the iron cuffs, but it was no use. 

“All rise!”

The voice echoed across the empty courtroom as a ghostly bailiff appeared. 

“Uh-oh,” Crowley groaned, giving his chains another tug.


	6. Naughty And Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has to defend Crowley when the demon is put on trial. It might be one thing to convince the judge, but can he convince Crowley?

Crowley tugged at the iron manacles around his wrists and kicked at the chains tugging back at his ankles. The ghostly bailiff continued to introduce a judge, the Right Honourable Justice Abraham. A haunting peal of bells rang out over the courtroom and then a skeletal figure in dark green judicial robes appeared on a large dias near the bailiff. 

"The court is now in session," the bailiff called out, and Crowley's chains were drawn taut with another clang of bells.

"We are gathered tonight to hear the case against Anthony J. Crowley," the judge announced to the empty gallery. The sounds of a murmuring crowd whispered eerily around them. 

Crowley shot a nervous look over to Aziraphale who had hurried over to his side but the angel looked just as unnerved as he felt.

"Mr. Crowley has been accused of being naughty," the judge continued, echoed by gasps and jeers from the invisible court. Crowley groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Are you being bloody serious?" he growled at the judge. " _ Naughty _ ?"

"I am dead serious," the skeleton responded, making Crowley groan again. What was with this lich and his puns? "This is the most serious charge to be heard in this court Mr. Crowley and I'd suggest you consult your council before speaking again. If this court finds you guilty you will be immediately fed to Krampus.

A door at the back of the hall banged open and an immense bone devil stomped into the courtroom brandishing a knife and fork. Crowley blinked and slowly shook his head, his mind boggling over this bizarre clash of spooky horror and trite holiday nonsense.

"This is so stupid," he muttered. Aziraphale nodded in silent agreement.

"The court has already reviewed the charges," the judge announced, and the ceiling opened, raining sheets of paper down on them. Crowley snatched one out of the air with his bound hands and read a list of his various exploits. Aziraphale picked up another one, and they compared them. They were different items, they were likely  _ all _ different. It would take a lot of paper to cover 6'000 years of mischief. He'd seen it, actually. He had his own file room in Hell.

He sat rigidly, pointedly  _ not _ looking at Aziraphale as paper continued to rain down on them. He was still  _ not _ looking at the angel ten minutes later when they were both somewhat littered with sheets of paper and it was only just starting to slow down.

"Good Lord, Crowley," Aziraphale grumbled.

"They're not double sided," Crowley pointed out helpfully. Aziraphale cast him an exasperated glance. Crowley snickered anxiously. He knew Aziraphale didn't approve, but most of the charges he'd read on the pages nearest him were really funny. He'd had some good times.

Finally, Crowley seemed to have run out of crimes and the courtroom was miraculously cleared of all the paper with the sound of jingling bells followed by Crowley's loud snort.

"The court will now hear from the defense," the judge declared. Aziraphale stood nervously.

"Are you going to be a barrister now?" Crowley smirked. 

I've argued on people's behalf in various courts in various countries," Aziraphale huffed. 

"Yeah? Me too!" Crowley grinned. Those occasions were likely included in all those sheets of paper.

"Can the defense supply any testimony to support that Anthony J. Crowley is  _ nice _ ?" the judge demanded and Aziraphale's eyes lit up with such joy Crowley was inspired to cast the angel some serious side-eye.

"Angel," Crowley warned but his growls fell on deaf ears as Aziraphale bustled around the table to address the judge. 

"If it would please the court, I'd like to argue that deep down Crowley is, in fact, the  _ nicest _ demon I have ever met!" Aziraphale declared dramatically.

"Fffuck's sssake," Crowley groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"Can I begin by pointing out that Crowley helped save the world?" Aziraphale told the court with a smug smile. 

"Did he do so for his own selfish reasons?" The judge asked. "Rather difficult to be naughty without a world to be naughty in."

Crowley inwardly cringed at the word naughty. While it wasn't  _ inaccurate _ , it also wasn't at all  _ cool _ . 

"Crowley loves the Earth," Aziraphale argued. "And he's quite fond of humanity too."

"Do you need to review the evidence to the contrary once more?" the judge threatened. Crowley scowled a bit at that as Aziraphale politely declined. He hadn't been tempting and otherwise troublemaking all this time because he despised humanity. He was just filling quotas and trying not to discorporate from bloody boredom. 

"As an agent of Hell, Crowley has had to do some regrettable things, and I won't argue that he hasn't been naughty…" Aziraphale began and Crowley groaned again. "But he is also  _ nice _ . Wonderfully nice, in fact. 

"He has rescued me dozens of times over the years when the easiest thing would have been to leave me to discorporate. He hasn't directly benefited from saving my life, or saving my dignity in those instances. He was being  _ kind." _

Crowley flushed, an uncomfortable weight sitting on his chest as the angel defended him. 

"Crowley has cheered me up, for no reason other than it pained him that I was sad. He's brought me gifts because he felt I would enjoy them. He has been my greatest support since the beginning all while pretending to be my enemy in order to keep up appearances. Every troublesome thing he has done has been more in the interests of chaos than evil. Mischief, not maliciousness."

The judge scratched his jawbone and nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. This court finds that the demon Crowley is, deep down, actually very  _ nice _ ."

"The Hell I am!" Crowley snapped. "M'not bloody nice! I'm a demon!"

"Crowley," Aziraphale chided. "With all due respect dear, please do shut up."

"I'm the fucking Serpent of Eden," Crowley seethed. "I brought ssssin into this world. I'm as bad as they bloody come!"

"Crowley, they're going to feed you to Krampus," Aziraphale snapped at him.

"They fucking  _ better!" _ Crowley returned. He tried to cross his arms insolently but the shackles prevented it. "M'not  _ nice _ . Never was. Never will be. Not in my nature."

"He's confused," Aziraphale told the judge. "He's very nice. You should see him around children!"

That was a low blow, bringing kids into this. Crowley glared at the angel.

"I'm bad," the demon countered. "You should see me with  _ plants _ ."

"Crowley, stop it!" Aziraphale shouted. "I've had it with these tantrums everytime I try to tell you how good you are. I'm very sorry that Hell has convinced you that that being a demon means you can't be good, but you  _ are." _

Crowley wanted to argue but Aziraphale was making that face like he might cry, and it was bloody awful when the angel looked at him like that. Still…

'M'not," he muttered.

"You  _ are, _ " Aziraphale told him. "You have always been there for me when I needed you. I know your image is important to you my dear, but the truth is that I  _ like _ you very much. I don't think I could care about you if you were evil. Not really. And I know you  _ definitely _ couldn't care about  _ me." _

And it occurred to Crowley that all he'd have to do to prove his badness now was deny he cared about Aziraphale, but he could just imagine how that would go. Aziraphale would probably bring up Alpha Centauri, and the burning bookshop and the offer to stay at his flat, and…

As he stared at Aziraphale, looking at him so earnest and hopeful, he just couldn't bring himself to say the words 'I don't even like you.'

Some things are too great a lie, even for a demon.

"Ffffffine," he groused, forced to accept Aziraphale's praise and deeply annoyed by it. 

"The Court finds Anthony J Crowley nice," the skeletal justice declared once more, bringing down his Peppermint gavel. Crowley sulked as the shackles fell away. Aziraphale joined him, grinning ear to ear and Crowley glowered at him.

"Oh buck up, dear," Aziraphale teased. "I'll keep it a secret from now on."

"But  _ you'll _ know," Crowley hissed.

"Oh yes," Aziraphale chuckled. "But I've known all along. Or at least since that first trip to Tadfield."

A chill crept over Crowley and he eyed the angel warily. "Wait... you've known  _ what _ all along?"

"That… that you're nice?" Aziraphale faltered, blushing a little.

"Right," Crowley nodded, relieved and disappointed. "Obviously." 

Obviously… except that Aziraphale had told him then that he could sense certain other things and suddenly Crowley had thought that maybe…

"Crowley?" 

"Sorry, Angel," Crowley shook his head, feeling a bit dizzy again. He turned back to the angel and found himself standing on a snowy street on what looked to be London's east side. 

London's east side in the _early_ _18th_ _century_.

"What now?" Aziraphale sighed, joining Crowley and looking around warily. 

"These streets shouldn't be empty, even if it's late," Crowley whispered. The city looked dark and devoid of life. It was easily spookier than the courtroom full of ghosts and skeletons.

  
_ "Where is… my...haaaaat?" _ a voice rumbled behind them. Crowley hissed, whirling around, as the ground shook violently and pitched them both into the deep snow.


	7. Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angry snowman chases our heroes through the abandoned East End of early 18th century London.

Aziraphale cringed as he watched Crowley race down the dark street alone, kicking up slush as he ran. The angel ducked his head out of sight of the window at the furious roar coming from the opposite direction. He peeked back out into the street in time to see Crowley nip into an abandoned shop across the street and slam the door behind him.

Mere seconds later an avalanche of snow punched its way into the building, collapsing the storefront into a ruin of brick and wooden beams. Fresh terror stabbed through Aziraphale’s heart as the last shards of glass from the upstairs windows fell to the street like ice.

  
  


**_ One hour earlier. _ **

“Where… is… my haaaaaaat?!”

Aziraphale startled at the angry voice and turned in time to see two coal black eyes peering out at him from a snowdrift before the ground began to shake violently and he and Crowley were tossed back into the deep snow. The drift opposite them rumbled terribly and  _ grew. _ The angel and demon watched in confusion and annoyance respectively as the snow piled up and up and up until finally a 10 foot tall snowman turned to face them, it’s coal lined mouth twisted in an angry frown.

“What the absolute fu—?” Crowley spat.

“GIVE ME MY HAAAAAT!” the snowman bellowed, its cavernous mouth now showing rows of sharp icicle teeth. It fell on its side and  _ rolled  _ towards them and Crowley immediately ceased his irritated groaning and instead jumped to his feet, hauling Aziraphale up with him. They ran.

The demon's hand was clamped around Aziraphale's like a vise and it was bordering on painful, but he was grateful for it. Crowley pulled him along, pulled him up when he tripped. As frightening as this snowman was, he was more afraid of becoming separated from Crowley in this chaos.

Crowley dragged him up the wooden steps of a lodging house, kicking open the door and all but throwing the angel inside the building. 

They hurried through various narrow corridors they found inside, quiet save for their laboured breathing, and Crowley's grip on Aziraphale still hadn't lessened. 

They paused near a small room and Crowley slumped against the wall and Aziraphale finally got his hand back, shaking it out and rubbing the circulation back into his fingers.

"So… I'm gonna go out on a limb here," Crowley tried to casually drawl between rapid breaths. "But I think we have to find its fucking hat."

"That does seem to be the clue, yes," Aziraphale agreed. A rather obvious one as well, which he found troubling. Crowley was watching him, frowning.

"What is it, Angel,? He whispered. "You're gnawing on something. I can tell."

"It's only that Sancusto implied that the details were important, and yet it rather feels as though we've been spoon-fed these clues thus far."

Crowley considered this for a moment and shrugged. "Maybe the dramatic wanker isn't as clever as he thinks he is?"

"Perhaps," Aziraphale said, unconvinced. He wasn't used to his own cleverness being undermined so he was happy to entertain the notion that Sancusto was a fool, but then what would that say about Aziraphale for blundering into his trap?

"Or…" Aziraphale offered. "There may be something else going on as well. Some grander theme under these little tests."

Crowley groaned. "If that's the case, we could be doing this forever until we figure it out."

"Quite," Aziraphale grumbled. "Let's figure it out then."

Crowley looked up at him expectantly. Oh.  _ He _ was meant to figure it out? That hardly seemed fair. He was about to point out that  _ Crowley _ was in fact the expert on devious plots, when the wall exploded down the room behind them and the snowman began tearing its way through the lumber and brick towards them. 

Crowley was on his feet again, pulling Aziraphale along again as they fled through the building. 

"Wot kind of sick bloody monster dreams up a juggernaut Frosty?!" Crowley seethed, twisting them through the strange labyrinthine corridors and into another small room. The demon glanced out the window while Aziraphale twisted to watch fearfully over his shoulder. The sounds of destruction followed them.

"Oi," Crowley barked, snaring Aziraphale's attention. "Try to roll," Crowley told him. Aziraphale was about to demand an answer for  _ that _ when the demon fully flung him out the window and Aziraphale shouted in shock and outrage as he fell onto the snowy street below.

Crowley came tumbling after, managing the roll much better than Aziraphale's splat.

"All right?" Crowley asked, helping him to his feet. "Gotta get outta the street."

Aziraphale croaked an affirmative, his aching back making it harder to catch his breath. He leaned heavily against Crowley as they limped across the street and slid into a darkened shop. They crouched under the window and Crowley kept a steadying hand on Aziraphale's shoulder as he recovered from his rude defenestration.

"Well lookit that," Crowley whispered excitedly. Haberdashery across the street.” 

"It can't possibly be that simple?" Aziraphale frowned.

"Why not?" Crowley asked. "The others were."

"But what's the underlying puzzle, Crowley?" Aziraphale cried. "Solving this level of the game will only deposit us in another one."

"Shhh!" Crowley hissed. "Yeah, it probably will, angel, but as long as that level doesn't have a killer snowman, I will count it as a bloody win."

Aziraphale did have to agree that the ugly sweater level, while uncomfortable, certainly would have been more conducive to this conversation than one where an angry snowdrift was tearing buildings apart to get them.

"All right, let's go."

"No," Crowley answered. " _ I'll  _ go."

Aziraphale shook his head, strongly on the opinion that splitting up was a terrible idea, but Crowley squeezed his shoulder and gave him a firm look.

"You're hurt. I'll go. I'm faster than you anyway and I can draw it away from you."

"Crowley, nothing seems to stop it," Aziraphale pulled the demon closer to him. "It won't take it long to get to you once you're in the shop."

"I'll just have to find the right hat quickly then, won't I? Crowley growled. "But I stand a better chance if I'm not dragging you along so stay put."

"Crowley, I know what you're doing," sAziraphale frowned at the demon who glanced sideways at him. The demon had lost his glasses in the fall and his golden eyes shone with protective determination. 

"It'll be all right, Angel," he whispered, and then he was gone, slipping out the door before Aziraphale could stop him.  _ Dash it, Crowley! _ That bloody intractable demon was going to get himself permanently discorporated if kept up this impulsive dare-deviling. Who was he trying to impress!

The blasted fool had always been like this. Hopping through a church as his feet cooked, or sneaking onto the ark, knowing full well it was being watched by Heaven. The idiot.

_ Sweet idiot though _ , he was reminded by the part of him that wasn't channeling his adrenaline into anger. He saved those kids and took care of them for the month at great personal risk. He walked across consecrated ground to save me from a humiliating discorportation. Saved my books for no reason at all other than to spare me grief.

Aziraphale peeked over the window ledge as the demon sped away, kicking up slush as he went, and a bit of warm affection curled around the sharp edges of his cold dread. Crowley was protecting him. He had been doing so since the beginning, the cunning 'wicked' 'fiend'. Aziraphale was unquestionably the stronger and tougher of the two and yet Crowley tossed his skinny body between Aziraphale and danger over and over and over.

Oh you sweet darling boy. Do be safe, love," Aziraphale prayed before the deafening roar down the street made him cringe and duck down out of sight. He peeked out the window again in time to watch in horror as the snowman crashed through the haberdashery, collapsing the front of the building onto itself.

_ Crowley… _

“Crowley!” Aziraphale heard himself screech, and for a moment it felt as though reality had whited itself out in his terror. He was across the street now, picking through the rubble in near panic when the debris began to seize and pulse like a throbbing heart. Aziraphale stumbled back as the snowman’s mighty head shook its way out of a pile of brick and stone. A might clawed hand, seemingly carved from the timber of this very building rose threateningly before him. The monster howled, its icy teeth dripping with slobbery slush and then suddenly Crowley was scrambling up the small mountain of destruction, and slamming a smart looking stove pipe hat down on the creature’s snowy head. 

The terrible roar faded at once, echoing off into the distance between the silent dark buildings. Crowley dropped to his knees beside what now appeared to be a perfectly normal, un-monsterous snowman. 

“Crowley, you’re all right!” Aziraphale cried, elated to see the demon in one piece after all this devastation. “You  _ are _ all right, aren’t you? Are you hurt?” 

Crowley continued to glare at the snowman as if considering kicking it apart out of spite, but caution must have won out and he finally looked down towards Aziraphale. It was difficult to tell in the dark, but a shadow fell across the demon’s pale face in what might have been blood, or a bruise.

“Come down here, darling,” Aziraphale held his arms out. “I’ll help you down.”

Crowley heaved a heavy sigh and slowly pulled himself to his feet in time for the pile of debris to open up and swallow him. Crowley’s surprised yelp echoed in the night before being joined by Aziraphale’s loud “FUCK!” as he too fell through the ground beneath his feet.


	8. Wassail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves in a haunted orchard.

Crowley opened his eyes and saw the gnarled crisscrossing of branches above him and that same night sky with its incorrect smattering of stars. He closed his eyes again and contemplated just falling asleep. It was cold and wet but he’d managed to sleep in worse conditions before. He was a demon after all.

“Crowley? Wake up dear,” Aziraphale gave him a little shake and Crowley hissed at him in annoyance.

“M’not asleep, Angel,” he growled, giving up on his cynical daydream and forcing himself to sit up and take in whatever new nightmare they were now in. It looked pretty much as eerie as he expected.

They were in what appeared to be an ancient apple orchard, surrounded by lines of twisted little trees, branches bare with rotted old apples littered on the frozen ground. A faded sign had been pounded into the ground nearby pointing the way to “cider house”.

“I guess we’re going to the cider house,” Aziraphale announced glumly. Crowley groaned as he pulled himself to his feet. His head was pounding. He’d narrowly avoided getting brained by one crashing beam in the haberdashery, only to get clipped by another. 

“Waddya think its gonna be this time,” he asked the angel as they plodded their way down the narrow path between spidery trees. “Think the trees will come to life and stone us with frozen apples?”

Aziraphale gave him a nervous look, aghast at the thought. “Honestly, I don’t think we need to be giving Sancusto ideas, Crowley,” he huffed, and Crowley rolled his eyes but kept his brainstorming to himself. 

They approached a low stone wall with a gate marked with a large ornate ‘S’. Crowley noted it with another eyeroll, figuring an orchard this eerie would have to belong to the bastard Sancusto. The gate swung open easily as they passed through but not without making an ear-splitting metal screech that was completely unnecessary considering how well it swung open, but made Crowley wince and hold his aching head for a moment.

“You’re hurt,” Aziraphale told him as if he didn’t bloody know. 

“M’fine,” he grumbled. “Let’s just keep moving.”

They walked into another orchard that looked exactly like the one they’d entered, although this one had apples on one side and pears on the other. A thin partridge fluttered dramatically from the patch of frozen grass and landed at the top of one of the pear trees to glare down at them. Crowley tried to hate it to death.

“Look,” Aziraphale whispered, tugging on Crowley’s coat. Distracted by the useless bird, Crowley had apparently missed the sudden appearance of an absolutely massive apple tree on the other side of the path. He hadn’t seen an apple tree this enormous since… well… a very long time anyway.

“S’probably important,” he muttered, following Aziraphale to the tree. Faint music whispered a familiar tune, growing more pronounced as they approached, and as they finally stood before the thick bole they could tell the singing was seeping out of the gnarled bark of the tree. It sounded like dozens of voices all mournfully chanting their song.

‘Here we come a-Wassailing

Among the leaves so green,

Here we come a wandering,

So fairly to be seen’

Aziraphale made the little adorable sound he made whenever he discovered something interesting and Crowley arched a brow at the angel as he squatted down to retrieve an improbable well preserved book from beside the tree's roots.

“The King Tree,” Aziraphale read, squinting to make out the title in the dim moonlight. He flipped a page and squinted even more until Crowley couldn’t stand it any longer and pulled the book out of his hands. 

“The King Tree is lord of the orchard. It is our most sacred tradition to bring the Wassail to the King Tree in our offering ritual, in order to ensure fruitful harvests in the coming season,” Crowley read out loud.

“That was a common enough practice at one time,” Aziraphale nodded, his voice cautious. Crowley glanced at him sharing a similar sense of cynicism. There had to be more to this. Crowley took a breath and flipped the page.

“Our ritual follows presently. It is a simple enough ceremonial offering but must be attended to fastidiously or our orchard’s bounty will not be assured.”

“Please tell me the ritual is there,” Aziraphale whined. Crowley skipped ahead and skimmed the last page of instructions and it did seem to be complete, and definitely simple assuming they could find the wassail.

“Yep,” he said. “The kick in the teeth will be something else I guess— Oops, nope. There it is,” he grumbled, reading the page he skipped. “Completing the offering in its entirety will also ensure the restless dead return to their slumbers. Failure to do this offering will tempt the angry spirits of the many witches hanged here to torment us for the remainder of the cold dark months.”

“Oh good Lord,” Aziraphale groaned. 

Crowley tucked the book into his coat pocket and chuckled mirthlessly. A haunted orchard. Why not? 

“Well, the main ingredient of a good wassail is going to be apple cider,” he pointed out, anxious to get this bloody over with. “Shall we continue our haunted walk to the cider house?”

Aziaphale offered him a tight smile, and they headed off in the direction the sign had pointed, continuing down the narrow twisting path. 

It wasn’t exactly a surprise per se, when the first bony arm clawed its way out of the earth under the nearest pear tree, but Crowley shouted all the same, darting away from it only to get swiped by another arm emerging from below the apple tree on the other side. The dead never managed to fully escape the roots of their respective trees, but they still made a right nuisance of themselves, grabbing at their legs as they stumbled their way along until they finally reached the cider house. 

The inside of the little brick cabin was bright and warm, and it smelled strongly of cider and spices. A large fire crackled happily in the hearth and, most importantly, nothing seemed to be jumping out at them. 

“A pond, A forest, Candycanes, a jumper, a trial, a snowman, an orchard…” Aziraphale was mumbling to himself.

“Any pattern you can see?” Crowley asked, hoping the clever angel could see something he couldn’t.

“Aside from the fairly obvious holiday themes, no,” Aziraphale frowned. “But if this test is anything like the others, there is bound to be some sort of soft timer on it. I suspect we won’t be rewarded for diddle dallying. Check the book for how to make the wassail and I’ll find the ingredients.

Crowley read the ingredient list out while the angel fetched what was needed from the various (improbably well organized) shelves and baskets lining the walls. Once everything was collected Crowley set the book aside and fetched a couple knives from the knife block and helped his friend peel and slice the apples.

“I know we’re no doubt in imminent peril, but I must say the smells in here bring back fond memories,” Aziraphale laughed. Crowley snorted at that, but the angel’s smile did lighten his own dark mood somewhat. “I remember quite a few winters spent mulling cider and wine. I joined quite a few wassailing parties as well.”

“Same,” Crowley shared, wincing at another slight pain in his head. The pain had been steadily fading since they entered the cider House though and it was almost unnoticeable at this point. 

"I attended a lot of parties, at least" he winked, passing the angel another bunch of apple slices to put into the press. “And it does smell delicious.” 

They passed what seemed like a number of hours in the warmth, shockingly unmolested by ghosts, skeletons or snow creatures. Aziraphale told Crowley several stories he’d never heard before about various Christmases he’d enjoyed, and the demon found himself basking in the warmth of someone else's memories. 

“No wonder you like this holiday so much,” Crowley murmured after the seventh tale. “You have so many fond winter stories. I wish I had that.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked sad and embarrassed. “Here I am going on and on —”

“No no, its good!” Crowley rushed to say, feeling like a cur. “I didn’t mean to have you stop. I like your stories its just… he looked down at the work top, covered in curley apple peels and spices. “I’ve never done something simple and… domestic like this before. It’s… its really…”

“Nice?” Aziraphale purred like the horrible bastard he was.

“Shaddup,” Crowley snapped. “No! It's just new and I don’t completely hate it. I probably would if I was on my own, all this finicky human food prep is taking absolute yonks. Better to just miracle it together, add copious amounts of alcohol and slam it back into your guts, I say.”

“Mhmm,” Aziraphale smiled, moving on to the small orange slices and squeezing the juice into the pot of cider. “I think this is ready to put over the fire now. Would you double check to be sure we didn’t miss anything?”

Crowley grumbled under his breath as he skimmed through the notes and confirmed that they hadn’t doomed themselves just yet. Aziraphale carried the heavy pot over to the fire and hung it from the iron hook over the fire before joining Crowley by the worktop again. 

Crowley watched the way the angel seemed to almost glow in all the warmth of the little cider house, his smile gentle and relaxed and Crowley let himself entertain the pleasing realization that Aziraphale was often at ease in Crowley’s presence. For so long he’d figured the principality merely tolerated his demonic presence in his life, and it had taken a long time to trust that Aziraphale actually enjoyed their odd little friendship. It was something… more though to believe he was comfortable with Crowley. That he trusted him.

“S’only because you’re here,” Crowley mumbled, feeling himself blush a bit and turning away to fetch up the book again. He could feel Aziraphale looking at him and bit his lip. “It wouldn’t be any fun to do all this messy stuff by myself. It's not so bad though to do it with you. That’s all.”

“I feel the same way,” Aziraphale said warmily and Crowley nearly shook with relief. “I’ve been looking forward to this Christmas since the summer in fact for that very reason.”

Crowley turned back, looking a bit confused and Aziraphale seemed to be blushing now as well. “I do love this holiday, and the season of giving and gratitude but something has always been missing for me.” 

The angel shuffled closer and Crowley’s cheeks flared hot again as he was trapped by the gentle smile and kind blue eyes looking up at him through blonde lashes. “Family. We’re meant to be with family and I’ve never had that before.”

“Heh,” Crowley chuckled nervously. “You sure you want a demon to be part of your family?”

“I do,” Aziraphale told him. “So long as that demon is you.”

“Ngk!” Crowley flushed, pulling the book up to hide behind. Aziraphale laughed and playfully swatted his arm.

“I don’t know why this is a surprise to you, Crowley,” he gently chided. “You know you’ve been welcome at the shop for ages. It is warded to the rafters against just about everyone except you.”

He did know that, but he’d always assumed it was by necessity or convenience considering the nature of their Arrangement. After the summer, it mostly felt like inertia, as they fell into doing things much the way they had all along.

“Nnn never had a family before either,” he mumbled. “But… Tsss S’okay if you want to be mine I guess.”

“That’s big of you dear,” Aziraphale hummed, patting Crowley’s arm kindly, the condescending knob.

They continued their banter, laughing and teasing each other as the wassail simmered until Azirpahale reminded them they should read ahead for the next part of the offering.

“Simple enough from the look of it,” Crowley told him, suspecting there would be a catch anyway. “There’s a special crock the wassail has be presented in and an offering rhyme has to be uttered as the wassail seeps into the roots of the King Tree.”

“What’s the crock look like?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley showed him the sketch on the next page. Aziraphale hurried over to the old wooden cabinet and pulled the large crock out. It was quite a bit larger than Crowley had suspected, although it didn’t present the angel with the slightest inconvenience to carry it over. He hummed to himself as he dusted the red and green earthenware with a wet cloth, but stopped, frowning, once he started dusting the inside. Crowley felt the warm happy feelings he’d been enjoying start to fray. 

“Wots wrong?” he groaned.

“There’s a crack in the bottom,” Aziraphale frowned. “Wide enough for a slow leak. I doubt it would be an issue if it were filled to the brim and carried to the King Tree straight away, but…”

“But those bloody dead witches are bound to trip us up and slow us down,” Crowley finished for him. “Can we carry it wassail out in the cookpot and just transfer it to the crock once we’re at the tree?” he asked. 

Aziraphale frowned at the iron cookpot and looked skeptical. “I suppose I could try, but I can’t imagine it would be so simple.”

Crowley found a pair of heavy hide mitts in the back room and Aziraphale put them on to protect his hands from the heated iron as he removed the wassail from the fire and carried it to the door. Crowley followed along with the heavy crock, hoping to whoever might feel benevolent towards him these days that he did not drop it!

Aziraphale stopped at the threshold of the door and sighed heavily.

“Wot is it?” Crowley grunted.

“I can’t leave,” the angel responded, sounding completely unsurprised. “The pot won’t pass threshold.”

Well that was that.

Crowley set the crock back down on the work top and scowled at it. THere had to be a way to fix it, and perhaps if it had been a small chip or hole they could have stopped it up with some cloth, but the crack was going to be a bloody problem. He looked around the room anxiously for some kind of solution until he noticed the tall steel mug hanging on the wall across from the door. He quickly snatched it and blew the dust out of it.

“I really don’t think we ought to drink any of it,” Aziraphale warned him. “We have no idea how much will be lost before we make it across that cursed orchard.”

“Much less now,” Crowley grinned. “Gonna have to work together on this though, angel. You carry it crock and I’ll catch what leaks out in the mug and toss it back in the top. Might lose some along the way but—"

“Crowley, you’re a genius,” Aziraphale sighed with relief and Crowley’s grin widened at the praise and that annoying feeling of warmth spread a little further into his bones.

Aziraphale poured the wassail into the crock and immediately dropped the cookpot to the floor to snatch the already leaking crock up off the worktop. Crowley slipped the mug under the crack and together they made their way out of the cider house and started along the icy path. 

“Steady Angel,” Crowley whispered, quickly pouring the wassail back into the pot before putting the mug back in place to catch the leak.

“Stay close,” Aziraphale whispered back, trudging closer to the orchard and its flailing, grasping arms. 

They managed to evade several of the ghastly swipes, although one arm caught hold of Azirpahale’s long coat and nearly pulled the angel off balance. Crowley steadied him, spilling a good amount of the mug’s contents down his front and swearing. They progressed slowly, and with several cupfulls lost, but more made it back into the crock then didn’t. 

They were nearly past the gauntlet when a particularly long twisted arm shot up towards Crowley and managed to grab hold of his arse in a bruising grip. Crowley made a sound unlike anything he’d ever uttered before and spun to kick the bloody thing off him. Once he’d turned back, grumbling his way back into place to catch the leak, Aziraphale let out a snort of laughter.

“These witches are getting fresh,” Crowley smirked at him. “Better hurry up or I might get distracted.”

Aziraphale laughed again, but this time he was blushed too. “You’re disgusting,” he scolded, his eyes shining in the moonlight. 

They made it to the king tree and Aziraphale paused as a look of consternation crossed his face. Crowley dumped his mugful back in the crock and continued to catch the leaking wassail as the angel stood, thinking.

“Wot’s going on?” Crowley demanded.

“I can’t remember any of the old offering rhymes,” Aziraphale fretted. I don’t think I’ve ever participated in this part before. It had always been a bit pagan to seem completely safe to me.

“S’all right, angel,” Crowley grinned. “I know a good one. Pour it over the roots.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a grateful smile and carefully poured the wassail out over the dark ground under the tree. Crowley’s grin turned wicked as he glared at the tree and recited his rhyme.

“Apple tree, Apple tree, give us good fruits,

Or down with your branches and up with your roots”

“Oh, Crowley. Really?” Aziraphale huffed. “Must you threaten every plant you come across?”

Crowley laughed as the last of the wassail seeped through the cold soil. The ground lightened into a growing patch of grey. They watched warily as the grey continued to spread, turning the orchard ground into a familiar concrete floor. 

Crowley made a noise of discomfort when they found themselves standing in his flat.

"Welp," he sighed. "If you don't like how I talk to plants we best not go too far down that hallway," he joked but there was a sick twist in his stomach at the thought. It would be just his luck to die at the vengeful fronds of his own houseplants. "Yyyyeaaahh… we should definitely stay in the sitting room."


	9. Mari Lwyd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley rap battle a dead horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my fellow Welshies.
> 
> Once again, sorry for the typos. I'm both tired and impulsive so I'm posting this with zero due diligence.

  
  


"Everything seems the same to me," Crowley announced, sauntering back into the sitting room. It had taken a bit of convincing, but Aziraphale had finally gotten the demon to leave his side in order to make sure everything was as it ought to be. 

Personally, Aziraphale would have gladly joined him if it made him feel better not to be separated. He'd never seen anything more of Crowley's flat than the sitting room and kitchen and he was extremely curious about the rest. (It couldn't  _ all _ be this grey and stark, could it?)

"I suppose it might be too much to hope that Sancusto is done with us," Aziraphale sighed. Crowley strolled past him to the large windows.  _ They face east,  _ Aziraphale noticed. He hadn't paid the view any mind when he'd been here last, focused as they were on recovering from their exhaustion while planning their big ruse.

Now, as Crowley flung open the sliding door to check the balcony, Aziraphale wondered if Crowley had chosen an East facing penthouse by accident. Facing the rising sun, as Aziraphale had perched on his high wall so many centuries ago. Overlooking Soho, and the bookshop and  _ him. _

"Bah. City's dark and the stars are still wrong," Crowley grumbled, returning inside, lips twisted in a scowl. "Wonder if my Scotch will taste real."

Aziraphale was momentarily distracted by the demon's loose-hipped walk. This had been a problem off and on throughout his long association with the demon. He really was too beautiful…

Crowley lifted the top of one of his several crystal decanters and was giving the amber contents a speculative sniff when his door buzzer chimed a segment of 'Silent Night'.

Crowley crossed the room in barely a second, punching a button on the monitor near the lift to call up the camera feed from the lobby.

"Huh," Crowley deadpanned. "Wasn't expecting that…"

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder and gasped. There, in the lobby of Crowley's upscale building, stood a skeletal horse, bedecked in festive greenery and wearing a thin gauzy sheet in place of a mane. Even through the monochrome of the video the creature's eyes glowed a menacing red.

"Mari Lwyd!" Aziraphale exclaimed, excited to have recognized the spirit before suddenly becoming rather nervous about what this could mean.

"Wot?" Crowley snapped.

"It's a mumming tradition in parts of Wales," Aziraphale explained. "The party representing the horse recites a rhyme asking for entry into a domicile, and those inside need to stave off the visitors with a rhyme in return. If they fail they must feed the revelers. That's the gist anyway."

"I don't see revelers," Crowley scowled. "I see a horrific sodding hor—"

_ Open open, feed feed feed. _

_ Give up your bread, give up your mead. _

_ Tell me your rhymes, quick and fluid, _

_ Or be prepared to feed Mari Lwyd _

The gravelly voice seemed to echo in the largely unfurnished flat. It sent a chill down Aziraphale's spine and Crowley hissed.

"That sounds rather ominous. Do you have anything to feed her?"

"No bread or mead here, no," Crowley snorted. "Just lots of high quality alcohol that I'm not sharing with an undead farm animal."

"I imagine she won't be content with a nightcap anyway," Aziraphale told him. "Better give her a rhyme quickly."

Crowley scoffed and turned back to the monitor, holding the speaker button and reciting his refusal.

"Spells and wards prevent entry by force,

So I'm not afraid of some Welsh horse.

In this flat I'm the boss

So take a hint and fuck right off!"

Aziraphale sighed. This Mari Lwyd was almost certainly to be unfriendly but there was no call to antagonize her.

_ Spells and wards are no longer at play _

_ And Mari WILL eat her fill in some way. _

The voice seemed to swirl around them, seeping out of the walls.

_ So sing me your rhyme, to bide your time, _

_ then make me a meal or become my prey. _

"You're up, Angel," Crowley sighed, waving Aziraphale to the speaker. The angel thought for a moment, cleared his throat and tried being reasonable, just in case.

"Pardon me, I don't wish to be rude,

I'm afraid this flat is devoid of food.

Nothing baked, cured, tossed or stewed,

This demon's meals are sipped and seldom chewed."

"You make me sound like a lush," Crowley smirked.

"If the twelve decanters fit…" Aziraphale teased. "Would you kindly find some food for this specter?"

_ What little food ye have concerns me not _

_ I'll be pleased to feed on whatever you've got. _

_ I'll eat an angel plump and a demon skinny, _

_ When you succumb to my deadly whinny. _

"Plump!" Aziraphale scowled.

"Pay it no mind, Angel," Crowley called to him. "It's a bloody  _ skeleton _ . You're gorgeous."

"Oh," Aziraphale blushed. "Do you think so?"

"Ngk!" Crowley flinched, turning scarlet. 

Aziraphale felt himself blush in response to the thought that Crowley, temptingly beautiful Crowley might find  _ him _ attractive as well. That certainly opened up new, exciting avenues of thought (and a few cul-de-sacs of hyper-fixation if he wasn't careful.)

"I'm gonna check the plant room," Crowley grumbled, turning away. "Might have  _ something  _ that could work. _Rhymes_ , Angel!"

"Oh, yes.. um..." Aziraphale turned back to the door.

"I'm certain Crowley and I would taste just awful. 

And there's this darling place a block over that has the best falafel.

Could you try your luck elsewhere my dear?

I'd hate to die now things are getting interesting here." Aziraphale cast a blushing glance in the direction Crowley had left.

" _ Let me in and feed me fair _

_ Or ye'll not have a chance to tell him how you care. _

_ Centuries squandered, you waited too long, _

_ Now you'll both die for lack of a better song." _

Oh! Well now, that very much struck a nerve.

"Now see here you undead glue factory cast-off. I've had plenty else standing in my way, I'll have you know!"

The lift door evaporated and the spectral horse clip-clopped past the threshold and into the flat. 

Aziraphale fell back a step in shock, before the sound of ghostly whinnying overwhelmed him. He clapped his hands over his ears but the sound only grew louder, reverberating inside his skull as Aziraphale dropped to his knees in pain, barely able to look up as Mari Lwyd approached.

"Oi!" Crowley's voice pieces through the din. "Here's your bloody food, you sorry excuse for a carnival pony"

The deafening shriek of angry horses died away and Aziraphale gasped in relief, before nearly falling over again in a fresh panic that Mari was now after Crowley.

Spinning on his knees, the principality raised a hand, ready to smite before a) remembering he hadn't any such power here and, b) seeing Crowley quite unharmed, gently patting a little blonde Shetland pony while it grazed on something inside little window boxes.

"What? What happened? What did you do?" Aziraphale stammered. Crowley shot him a somewhat queasy smile that did nothing to set him at ease, despite how happy Mari seemed to be. Getting to his feet, Aziraphale came round the pony and glanced at the little flower boxes filled with fragrant edible plants.

“Oh…” Aziraphale breathed, even more confused. “I didn’t know you were growing food.”

“Nuh,” Crowley muttered, making Aziraphale suspicious.

“Why are you growing edible plants?” he asked the demon. “You don’t cook. You barely  _ eat.” _

“Was supposed to be a gift,” Crowley mumbled. “You’re always going on about how much you like custom made herbal teas and I thought…”

Aziraphale now understood better what he had been looking at in the boxes. There had been some tea plant, and spearmint, hyssop, and fennel. The other box had mostly been consumed but he thought he could smell some lavender and rosemary. Aziraphale was speechless! Crowley had been growing these specifically for him. To make a Christmas gift for him.

“I love it,” he whispered.

“Pff, wot’s to love,” Crowley growled, glaring at the happy little pony. “S’ruined now. Stupid horse.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled warmly, gently squeezing the demon’s shoulder. Crowley sighed, rolled his eyes defensively before scowling up at him. Aziraphale drew him up to his feet and hugged his friend tightly. “I love it. Truly. Thank you.”

“Mmnnn… s’nothing really,” Crowley dismissed but he didn’t remove himself from Aziraphale’s embrace and the angel counted that as another gift. “Growing plantsss is wot I’m good at. I don’t usually bother with flowers and herbs and the like— fussy things— but… I thought you might… Do you really like it? S’not stupid?”

“Definitely not stupid,” Aziraphale laughed, releasing Crowley so he could wipe his eyes free of their budding tears. “It’s thoughtful. I won’t say it's kind, because I know you hate that, but it’s… it’s a wonderful idea.”

Crowley looked as relieved as he did embarrassed, running his hand through his red hair. sporting a handsome lopsided grin. “S’nothing,” he repeated, blushing high on his cheeks. “Just glad I did have the idea or we’d be horse kibble now after, I assume, you botched a rhyme.”

Aziraphale’s fond smile slipped a little. “First of all, dear. Horses don’t eat kibble.”

“Don’t they?”

“Secondly, I didn’t  _ botch _ a rhyme, Crowley,” he huffed, feeling himself blushing a bit now. 

“Must have done, or it wouldn’t be eating your Christmas present,” Crowley smirked.

“I lost my temper, is all, and scolded the bony beast,” Aziraphale chided. “If anyone should understand, I’d think it should be you.”

“Completely understand,” Crowley nodded. “S’only that after sitting with all those poets and authors over the centuries, I thought you’d be able to handle yourself against a barnyard spectre…”

“Next time we encounter one I will leave the matter to you then, shall I?” Aziraphale grumbled. “Honestly what was even taking you so long back there?”

“Had to make a stop in the study for these,” Crowley grinned, whipping out a fresh pair of sunglasses and putting them on. Aziraphale stared at the demon as his warm fond feelings were thoroughly dampened. 

“Give those to me,” he demanded.

“Wot? Why?” 

“Give!” Aziraphale reached for them.

“No,” Crowley chuckled, backing away now. “You’re gonna do something to ‘em.”

“Yes, I am,” Aziraphale grinned wickedly. “I’m going to do something vile to them. Give them over!” He swiped at them and Crowley actually shrieked in mischievous glee and ran off down the hallway. Aziraphale laughed and gave chase, rounding the corner into the study and skidding to a stop in the freshly fallen snow.

“Oh bollocks,” he grumbled, finding that they’d stumbled into the frozen forest again. Crowley was looking down at himself in disbelief. He was now dressed in warm wool and fur, as was Aziraphale. The dark glasses were being tucked into his breast pocket.

“Forgot for a minute,” Crowley sighed. “Weird, innit? How could I forget we’re in this bloody game?”

Aziraphale gave the demon a gentle smile. He  _ hadn’t _ forgotten. Not really. But for a moment he no longer found it as ominous. He had simply been enjoying his time with Crowley.

“This is hardly our first time dealing facing danger together,” Aziraphale told him. “We do make a rather splendid team.”

“We do at that, Angel,” Crowley agreed, sighing tiredly at the twinkling stars above them. Aziraphale didn’t have to ask. He knew by the sadness in Crowley’s eyes that they were still wrong. It seemed especially cruel to disturb the night sky so. It had been the only thing Aziraphale had seen that consistently brought the demon comfort.

“Come on, teammate,” Crowley said wistfully. “Let’s go see what new festive hoop we’re to jump through this time.”

“Maybe it will be fun?” Aziraphale offered hopefully.

“Hope it’s at least funny,” Crowley grumbled, trudging off into the trees.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Reindeer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale find themselves having to activate a tricky gate in a reindeer farm. Crowley has a very uncomfortable realization concerning his own vulnerability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realistically I won't have the next two chapters up in time for Christmas, but hopefully they will be posted soon after. This has been a hard season. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and just in case I don't get another post in on time, Happy Holidays.

  
  


Crowley supposed he ought to at least be grateful that the forest wasn't as bloody cold as it had been the last time they were here. The black wool coat and gloves and fox fur collar and trim might as well have been something he'd owned in the past. It was certainly his colours if not his style. 

Aziraphale looked perfectly himself in the creamy white wool and brown rabbit fur.

"Mind your ears, dear," the angel warned, reaching up to tug Crowley's cap down over the tops of his ears. Crowley swallowed nervously at the gesture and the way Aziraphale had stepped so close to him to do it. The fur on his cuff brushed against Crowley's flushed cheek before the angel dropped his arm again with a smile.

"Uh. Thanks," he muttered, turning his attention back to the dangerous woods and trying not to think about how Aziraphale's fingers would have felt against his jaw…

They trudged through the snow for a while, lost before they heard someone whisper "psst".

They froze, looking around them in alarm before Crowley noticed an owl poking its head out of a tree.

"Beware," the owl said. Crowley glared at it. 

"Who's speaking please?" Aziraphale anxiously called out.

"Hoo," the owl responded, of course. Crowley glared harder.

"You," Aziraphale frowned. "Who — "

"For Hell's sake, Angel!" Crowley snapped. "S'a bloody owl!"

"How was  _ I _ to know?" Aziraphale pouted. "I can't see a thing out here, and why would I ever suspect an  _ owl  _ was talking to us?”

"You want to leave the woods?" the owl asked. "Not an easy task, that. Gotta activate the gate to leave. Not an easy task no no."

Crowley groaned. As much as he hated the idea of getting advice from a woodland creature, this was clearly their clue for this level's task so he braced himself for the bad news.

"'Course it won't be easy," he growled. "Tell us anyway."

"Are you _ sure _ you want to leave? The trees are thick with needles to block out the wind and there are plenty of rabbits and mice. The forest isn't so bad. You could stay…"

Crowley was considering grabbing the bird and plucking it until he got his answers but Aziraphale persevered.

"Regardless, perhaps you could tell us more about this gate?" the angel asked politely, peering in the wrong direction.

"If you're  _ sure _ ," the owl lamented. "You'll need to go to the reindeer farm to activate the gate."

"How do we find this farm and how do we activate this gate?" Crowley demanded. 

"The farm? That's just through these trees," the owl replied. "To activate the gate though...oh dear. Are you  _ sure  _ you wouldn't rather stay?"

"Speak up or I'll use you to dust the angel's bookshop!"

"You will  _ not _ ," Aziraphale argued. "I'm not letting a wild animal near my books!"

"No, I was going to turn it into — nevermind," Crowley growled, rolling his eyes. 

"You have to Boop the nose," the owl hooted.

“Boop!” Aziraphale giggled immediately and Crowley sighed. The silly angel had fallen in love with that term ever since he first heard it and Crowley had suffered through several months of humiliation afterwards. 

"What nose exactly?" Aziraphale asked warily, apparently remembering they were currently in a nightmare.

"The reindeer," the owl clarified, sounding afraid. "When you see the light glow the gate will open."

"Stupid," Crowley deadpanned. "I hate this."

"Come along, dear," Aziraphale sighed, taking Crowley's hand in his. Some of Crowley's bleak mood evaporated immediately as the angel's gloved palm squeezed against his own.

They pushed through the dense branches but there was no farm to be seen. Crowley was about to go back and strangle himself an owl when he noticed the disturbed snow off to his left.

"Bootprints," he said, leading Aziraphale over to them. "Guess we should follow 'em?"

"Did you say boot-prints, or  _ boop-prints _ ?" Aziraphale whispered and Crowley did a double take of exasperation.

"Boot-prints!" he snapped. "Why the heaven would I say  _ boop-prints _ ?!"

"I wasn't sure," Aziraphale shrugged. "I was wondering that myself,"

"They're footprints, angel," Crowley grumbled. "And I'm starting to think this forest is making you a bit daft, so let's get a wiggle on, shall we?"

"Oh ho!" Aziraphale gave an accusatory laugh. "You said it! You said 'get a wiggle on'!"

"I was being ironic!" Crowley argued, but Aziraphale had his bastardly smile on. "How can we have known each other as long as we have and you still don't know when I'm being sarcastic?"

"You're  _ always _ being sarcastic, Crowley," Aziraphale huffed. "Would you please calm down and follow where these boop-prints are taking us?"

Crowley eyed the angel sideways, watching the little half-smile form on the angel's face, the laughter dancing in his pale eyes. 

"I have no idea how you can possibly be enjoying this," Crowley sighed, smiling despite himself. The angel's mirth was contagious. He'd need to inoculate himself as soon as possible when he got out of this. It might take several shots (of whiskey) but he was confident it could be done.

That was more on par with his usual holiday tradition, honestly. The last few decades Crowley spent Christmastime getting completely hosed then wandering the street conjuring fruitcakes into random houses and flats. Everyone despised fruitcake and he fancied the idea of people wondering which of their loved ones had cursed them with one while no one took responsibility. It was even funnier when he was three sheets to the wind.

"You  _ did _ request this trial be funny," Aziraphale told him, failing to hide a grin behind his fur collar. "Booping a reindeer seems to fit the part."

"S'Not  _ funny _ , Angel," Crowley complained. "S'just  _ stupid _ . If we talk up and tap this bloody deer on the about and that's that I'll owe you a drink, but s'not gonna be that easy. Didn't you hear the owl?  _ Beware. _ "

"Be that as it may, I still feel confident we'll manage it," Aziraphale declared out-loud thus likely dooming them both to a fatal trampling.

"If one of us is going to get run over by a reindeer I'm glad you look more grandmotherly than I do at the moment," Crowley grumbled.

Aziraphale sniffed sharply but otherwise didn't respond which was just as well as the tree line opened up to reveal a small farm. The paddock was strung with colourful lights and the rustic little barn was painted a cheerful red. Crowley was instantly filled with dread.

"I suppose we ought to check the barn," Aziraphale suggested in a voice he no doubt thought was confident yet sounded anything but.

Crowley heaved a heavy sigh and motioned for the angel to stand back as he trudged over to the barn door.

"Perhaps if we sneak in we can give this reindeer a little tap and be on our way without waking anything?" Aziraphale whispered, again trying to sound hopeful and failing spectacularly.

Crowley lifted the latch with a barely audible click and pulled the heavy door open. It had hardly opened a crack before the largest bloody reindeer Crowley had ever seen came barreling out of it, throwing the door, and the demon behind it against the wall of the barn.

The beast stormed into the colourful paddock, stamping it's hooves aggressively.

"Easy," Aziraphale cooed at it, reaching a wary hand towards the angry stag. "Steady…"

The reindeer charged the angel, who managed to evade being gored by falling backwards onto his arse. Crowley frantically bellowed at the creature to take its attention away from Aziraphale.

It worked, unfortunately.

The deer turned towards Crowley as it's antlers grew another couple inches. Crowley knew he was quick. He wasn't sure he was quicker than this infernal reindeer though. He was about to find out. 

It charged him as he staggered away from the barn, hoping to be in position to bop the monster's nose as it passed him. He tensed and threw himself away at the last minute in panic, landing awkwardly in the hard packed snow.

"Shit!" Crowley growled, furious at himself for being a coward. A snort of hot breath ruffled his hair, and Crowley cringed looking up at a furious stag. The nose. It was right there. ' _ Boop it! Boop it now!' _ he screamed at himself, but instead he just froze. The reindeer reared and Crowley instantly remembered being discorporated exactly like this by an elk in the 12th century…

Something hit the deer in the flank, distracting the deer and it's hoof landed squarely beside Crowley's head instead of on it.

Another hit — a snowball— exploded against the creature's face this time.

"Get the nose!" Aziraphale cried, readying another snowball. It smacked the reindeer in the face and it snorted angrily, turning towards the angel. The antlers grew once again, and  _ sharpened! _ Crowley could see the bladed edges shining luridly in the multi-coloured lights.

His breath came laboured and a fresh panic stole over him. It was the elk all over again. The memory came back sharp as those antlers, supplied helpfully by an ancient and terrified brain. The smell of the wild hide, the angry bellowing of the beast, the pain and blood and this time it would be worse! It would be worse because it wouldn’t be Crowley. It would be Aziraphale!

Aziraphale. All soft curls and warm smiles and laughing eyes. The kindest, cleverest, best soul ever to grace this world. He’d be gone. Forever gone since Upstairs wasn’t going to grant him a new body and send him back to his demon friend. Aziraphale would be gone!

The memory of his Discorporation-by-Elk transmuted into the smell of burning books and the heat of a shop spiraling into hot red chaos while he screamed the angel’s name.

With a strangled cry of utter panic, Crowley sat up and punched the reindeer in the snout. The reindeer calmed at once, and the tip of its nose began to glow a bright red. Aziraphale cheered, the happy sound barely registering through the fog of Crowley’s fear. He pushed himself away from the now-peaceful creature and staggered to his feet, propelling himself towards Aziraphale. If the boop didn’t work the monster would charge. It would charge Aziraphale and take him away. Crowley couldn’t stand the thought of it. He’d go too. He’d have to.

Aziraphale’s happy grin melted when he saw Crowley’s terror. Crowley all but crashed into the angel, wrapping his arms around him to shield him with the demon’s own skinny body.

“I can’t lose you again, Angel,” Crowley whimpered, squeezing Aziraphale tightly. “I wouldn’t survive it. I couldn’t.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale whispered as the red glow from the reindeer’s nose spread across the snow and enveloped them.

Crowley opened his eyes, blinking away his tears and found they were both now standing in the bookshop once more. Aziraphale had been moved across the room, leaving Crowley’s arms empty and deadened by the loss. He slumped forward, unconsciously curling in on himself once more. 

They were both dressed in their usual kit, the heavy winter clothing having evaporated as casually as it had manifested. Crowley hastily scrubbed at his eyes, setting his glasses back on to cover his weakness.

“Uh…” he cleared his throat. “Right. You’re welcome,” he joked. “I guess a punch to the schnoz counts as a ‘boop’ if you’re a demon,” he grinned. “Don’t try that on me though, I don’t think I could pull off the crooked nose look.”

Aziraphale sighed and walked over to his till, counting the money quietly. Crowley cocked his head, confused by the sudden change in the angel’s mood.

“All right, Angel?” he asked, joining Aziraphale by the counter. Aziraphale didn’t answer. Was he angry? Why was he angry?

“Shit…” he flinched, remembering what he’d said just before Rudolph's blasted nose took them here.  _ Too much. Too needy. Too fast. _

“Look, what I said… S’just heat of the moment stuff, yeah? Nothing to fuss about,” he lied. He’d meant every word, and the realization that he meant every word was almost as terrifying as everything they'd encountered in this nightmare combined.

There was a time when he could go centuries without seeing Aziraphale. It hurt to be away from the angel, but Crowley had made excuses for that, dismissed it, compartmentalized the pain of it or shut it away for the sake of his own safety and sanity. A demon missing the company of an angel. That wasn’t exactly a healthy feeling to have. So Crowley pushed it down, sublimated it, ignored it.

That was before. Before he saw something change in the way Aziraphale looked at him when he passed him a bag of books in 1941. Before the way his heart broke at the bandstand. Before he walked in Heaven wearing Aziraphale’s face and saw the way the other angel’s treated the principality and burned with a rage hotter than anything he’d experienced outside of Hell.

He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t go a year without Aziraphale, let alone decades. He couldn’t live without his other half.

He hadn’t felt this vulnerable even when he stood on a chair, desperately trying to convince Hastur of some hairbrained lie while Ligur bubbled on the floor.

“Angel...please,” Crowley whispered. “Say something.”

Aziraphale placed the notes into a cash box and locked it in the safe under the counter before looking out towards the front windows, frowning sadly. Crowley hated the silent treatment. He generally hated it when Aziraphale was (actually) angry with him, but the silent treatment was particularly bothersome. So it was almost a relief when the angel turned towards Crowley and walked through him like a ghost. Crowley shivered, eyes wide, not expecting that. 

“Right so… is it you, or me?” he asked, no longer expecting an answer from an Aziraphale who couldn’t hear him. A quick test, running his hand through the worktop revealed that it was Crowley who was now incorporeal. “Ah, S’me,” he muttered. “Guess I’m figuring this one out on my own then, am I?” 

Aziraphale bustled about in his little kitchenette preparing hot cocoa and, _ of course _ , didn’t answer. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are trapped in separate locations, reliving each other’s previous Christmas eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. The Christmas Eve Chapter updated on Christmas EVE! What does it mean!
> 
> It means I'm super behind schedule. sorry.

Aziraphale casually wondered about the physics of all this. As an ethereal being, physics were never particularly interesting before but the angel wondered now how he could be seated comfortably in the Bentley while also being able to pass through every object in said Bentley. Including the demon beside him, oblivious to his presence no matter how many times Aziraphale poked his finger through his forehead.

They were parked half down the block from the bookshop, too far to see much of anything, but the demon watched anyway.  _ Stared _ really, without moving, was he asleep? Aziraphale kept waiting for something to happen, feeling restless and bored. He'd tried to leave the Bentley but his hand slid through the handle, and yet, he couldn't pass through the actual door. Hence him wondering over the physics of it all.

The street was full of shoppers and revelers so at least Aziraphale could people-watch. He did for a while, smiling at the excited children screaming Christmas carols at their exhausted but fond parents as they passed by the car. In the end, though, he watched Crowley. Crowley still hadn't moved, but now that Aziraphale was paying attention he could see the twitch in his jaw as though the demon were slowly clenching and unclenching his teeth. He  _ was _ awake then. And clearly stressed.

"What's bothering you, my dear boy?" Aziraphale asked, knowing he wouldn't be heard. Crowley snorted loudly, startling the angel. "Crowley?" He asked, hopeful that one of them may have been coming out of this spell. Crowley let out a plaintive groan and slumped forward, resting his head on the wheel. 

"What is it?" Aziraphale sighed. "I wish I could do something to help but— "

Crowley's cellular telephone began to ring and  _ Crowley _ startled this time, bolting upright in his seat and fumbling anxiously in his pocket. He brought the telephone to his ear, barking a clipped greeting.

"Uh... yeah, same to you, Angel," Crowley replied to the caller, and a chill went through Aziraphale at the use of his pet name.

"Oh dear," he groaned. "I'm afraid that really isn't me, Crowley."

Crowley, of course, didn't hear the warning. He was listening to the caller.

"Uh," Crowley said. "I… I would… I've got this party I'm heading to instead. Corporate office holiday thing. Big temptation opportunities there with potential for infinite ripples, you know how it is. Should make my lot happy."

Aziraphale frowned at that. Why was Crowley still tempting people? 

"Gotta keep up appearances," Crowley replied, then continued after a pause. "Of course, s'good of you to reach out. Of course, that's your whole thing, eh?  _ Goodness _ …" Crowley winced and silently smacked himself in the forehead.

"Yeah, might be the last Christmas," Crowley agreed with the caller and this triggered Aziraphale's memory.

"The  _ last Christmas… _ " he breathed. "The last Christmas before the War! Of course! We're in the past then. This all happened last year!"

He remembered this telephone conversation now. He had spent most of the day working up the nerve to ask the demon over for Christmas Eve and been disappointed, if not surprised that Crowley had made other plans. He ought to have figured the fast living demon had something better to do than sit around a bookshop with his enemy/co-conspirator. The important thing was that Crowley wouldn’t be alone. That was all. No one should be alone on Christmas eve.

“Right, If there happens to be a next year, maybe we’ll see each other then,” Crowley told the past Aziraphale with strained cheer. “I best head into that party now though so… yep… The next meet up then. Third rendezvous spot. See you in the new year, Angel.”

Crowley rang off and grumbled a long string of colourful expletives, turning the engine on. He did not, however, pull back into traffic. The cabin slowly warmed, blasting hot air from the heater and then the demon turned the engine off again. Aziraphale watched, confused. Did Crowley not go to that party after all? Surely he couldn’t have sat out here all night. That would have been… maudlin, not to mention, exceptionally boring. If he changed his mind about the party why wouldn’t he have come into the shop?

“What is bloody wrong with me?” Crowley growled to himself.

“Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” Aziraphale muttered.

*********

“Happy Christmas, Crowley,” Aziraphale gushed nervously into the telephone. Crowley arched his brow, puzzled. He’d spent the last twenty minutes or so leaning against a bookshelf watching the angel pace around the shop, picking up the phone only to hang it up again three times. He wasn’t sure who Aziraphale was so anxious about calling, and was pretty surprised when it turned out to be him. Especially since he was standing right bloody there.

“I was wondering if you might like to join me for some hot cocoa or cider tonight?” the angel suggested, squeezing the telephone cord with his fingers. “If you’re not otherwise engaged, of course. I might even mull some wine and —” Aziraphale cut off, listening, his features dimming in disappointment. “Oh… Still tempting souls are you?”

Who the Heaven was he talking to? Crowley stalked closer, trying to hear, but it was no use. Clearly Aziraphale believed it to be him and — and maybe it  _ was. _ Crowley blinked in surprise when he saw the angel’s calendar, open on his writing desk. The year was wrong.

“Oh bollocks,” he groaned. Time travel? That was a nasty business. He’d seen enough terrible films to know this couldn’t end well. Maybe it was for the best that he couldn’t interact with anything, annoying as it was.

“I figured you likely already had plans, but I figured I’d ask just in case,” Aziraphale was saying. Crowley drifted over to the window and peered down the street. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could just make out the Bentley. Of course, he’d intentionally parked far enough down the street to not be easily spotted.

“I’ll leave you to your  _ badness _ , I suppose,” Aziraphale sighed. “Only, I do hope you don’t cause too much strife if you can help it dear. I can’t help but think this might be the last such party these humans may have… if we fail, I mean.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. He’d forgotten about the office party excuse. He still didn’t know why he’d said that. Should have come in and had some mulled wine. At least would have been warmer. They could have gotten nicely drunk and bickered a bit. It would have been more fun than sulking and arguing with himself for three hours before getting messy drunk by himself and delivering fruitcakes to half of London.

“I’ll be in, should you get through with your temptations early or…” Aziraphale offered, trailing off. “Yes, of course. Off you go. Sorry for keeping you. I’ll see you in a few weeks as scheduled then? Yes… Yes… Until then.”

He rang off with a sigh, and Crowley finally stopped glaring down the street and turned toward Aziraphale.

“Aw, c’mon Angel,” he teased. “Don’t look like that. I would have been terrible company anyways. I was being a complete twat that night.”

Aziraphale took up his cocoa and sat on the sofa, listening to a terrible Christmas record on the gramophone. 

“Just as well,” the angel sighed. “My gift  _ is  _ rather silly, come to think of it.” 

The angel picked up a brightly wrapped present and tossed it over his shoulder. The gesture was so completely out of character for Aziraphale that it made Crowley jump out of his skin a bit. The gift landed with a soft thud a couple feet behind the sofa. Judging by the size and shape of the gift, as well as the sound it made, (and who it was from) it had to have been a book. 

Crowley wandered over to it and nudged it with his toe. “Not like you to toss books about, Angel,” he grumbled. The gift felt solid against his boot, warranting a curious noise from Crowley’s throat. Everything else had been intangible so far, but sure enough, he was able to pick up the gift. 

He looked over at Aziraphale and crinkled the wrapping paper, watching to see if the angel could hear it. So far, this was the only thing they had both interacted with but it seemed once Crowley touched it, it was no longer noticeable by the brooding bookseller.

Shrugging, Crowley tore into the gift, frowning in confusion at the old botany textbook inside. To his knowledge Aziraphale hadn’t known about Crowley’s interest in plants by this point in time. He’d certainly not yet invited the angel over to see the plant room, nor did he recall discussing his hobby with him.

Unless…

Well, they  _ had  _ gotten pretty drunk together a number of times over the last few decades so perhaps he had let something slip. Must have done. This gift was too uncanny otherwise.

There was a card inside the front cover with Aziraphale’s neat loopy cursive.

  
  


_ “May your days be filled with Acacia blossom, Arbutus, and Camellia, and your nights with Daffodil, Gardenia, and Primrose. Should you ever manage it, I’d quite like to see you grow moss roses. I understand they do quite well in pots.” _

The card wasn’t signed. Aziraphale wouldn’t risk leaving his name in Crowley’s possession. 

The flowery ( _ pun intended _ ) message was a weird one though and Crowley set the book down on the writing desk, reading the card over and scratching his head. 

These were definitely odd plants to wish on Crowley. If he had discussed his interest in plants, he  _ must _ have also mentioned his utter disdain for blooms and blossoms. Was this simply Aziraphale making a joke? Or a not so subtle attempt to add colour into his verdant hobby? Or was it a code.

No. They already had a code, and this wasn’t it. 

“S’always the possibility he’s just a nutter,” Crowley told himself, shrugging. He pitched the card into the bin beside Aziraphale’s desk and went to try his luck on the bottles of wine in the kitchenette.

  
  


*********

Crowley had finally driven off. Aziraphale was bored out of his skull by that point and was ecstatic to have a change of scenery, even if it was a dingy pub.

“I take it you lied about the office party then,” Aziraphale chided, sitting opposite Crowley in the dimly lit booth. “I completely understand. This seems  _ much  _ better than what I suggested.”

His sarcasm was lost on the demon. It seemed that being deep in his cups wasn’t going to help grant Crowley the ability to see and hear Aziraphale.

“FffffFucking Hell!” Crowley yowled after clacking his pint against his fangs and spilling a fair amount on himself. “Bloody fool teeth. This your first sodding day?”

“I think you ought to sober up a bit, dear,” Aziraphale suggested.

“Idiot demon,” Crowley muttered to himself. “Should have gone in. Could have. He asked me over, din’ he? Said I could...”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. He was beginning to find it immensely unfair that he had to listen to a drunk melancholic demon when he was unable to get drunk himself. 

“Sssshould have gone in,” Crowley frowned. “Might have been my lassst chance… could have done one thing off the bucket list before everything goes to shit in a few months.”

“If drinking back at mine was on your bucket list, I’d rather think you crossed it off years ago,” Aziraphale reminded him.

A server brought a large glass of water over to the table and set it down none-too-gently. Crowley hadn’t asked for water, but his loud slurring rambling had likely gotten on the nerves of those poor souls forced to work Christmas eve.

“‘I’m in trouble,” Crowley lamented to the server. “Sss’real bad.”

“I’m sure it will look better in the morning,” the server told him flatly. “Have some water. It should help.”

“Have some water,” Crowley mimicked nastily. She rolled her eyes and left them to Crowley’s misery. “How’s that gonna bloody help me?!” he yelled after her.

“Please don’t harass the wait staff,” Aziraphale begged, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. Crowley glared at the glass of water, then shrugged and turned it into more ale. Aziraphale groaned in exasperation.

“Sss’all gonna go to shit,” Crowley muttered. “They’re gonna find out. They’re gonna ask a question I didn’t think up an answer to, or they’re gonna wonder why the boy isn’t ssskinning catsss or… pushing old ladies in the ssstreet or something… evil.”

“They actually seem pretty content to take your word for it,” Aziraphale sighed, talking mostly to keep himself sane at this point. Crowley continued to lament his woes and otherwise make a mess of the booth.

“Gonna cock it up somehow,” he grumbled.

“You absolutely have,” Aziraphale snorted.

“S’Only a matter of time.”

“It was eleven years ago, as it happens.”

“They find out I’m in love with the fucking enemy and it’s all over,” Crowley cried, clunking his head down on the table.

“They really aren’t paying terribly great attention to — wait…” Aziraphale stared at Crowley in shock. The demon was still resting his head against the cheap laminate tabletop and seemed to fall asleep.

***********

“BORED!” Crowley shouted. “Wot’s the bloody plan, you mad ghoul?!”

He didn’t think it was possible to miss the angry snow monster, but at least that was interesting! Crowley stomped back into the back room, and slumped into the chair opposite Aziraphale and glared at the silent angel as he read.

“You would have figured this out by now,” he grumbled. “Shit. Wherever you are, I hope you’ve figured it out by now.”

Crowley had often wished he were as clever as Aziraphale, though he wouldn’t ever admit it to anyone, not even himself. Crowley did all right for himself, but he knew he wasn’t smart like the angel. He was crafty, cunning. He had imagination. Fat lot of good that was doing him now.

“Wot would you do?” Crowley asked Aziraphale. Aziraphale flipped a page and sniffed. There had been a short bout of weeping a little while ago that had Crowley on the edge of panic, ready to tear his hair out, powerless to fix whatever was ailing the angel. Then it had stopped as abruptly as it had come on and Aziraphale had picked up a book and started reading. His eyes were still a little watery and he positively reeked of loneliness, but he seemed otherwise fine.

“How would  _ you  _ solve this?” Crowley asked again, his eyes roving along the rows of books now. 

Aziraphale would research, of course. Although research  _ what _ , he didn’t know 

“You’d make a list of wot you  _ do  _ know,” Crowley nodded. “See wot pops out.”

Feeling at least a little better, Crowley strolled to the writing desk and sat down, his hand passing through the pen. “Aw, shit,” he sulked. It would have to be a mental list then.

He knew Aziraphale couldn’t hear him, and that he was in the past. He  _ didn’t  _ know where his Aziraphale was. 

He knew he couldn’t touch anything except the gift Aziraphale had gotten him, but he didn’t know why. He had skimmed through the book several times looking for clues and found nothing.

He’d gone over the stupid card, trying desperately to figure out what kind of code it could be.

Nothing. “Shit, Angel,” he sighed. “I‘m starting to think I might be totally rubbish without you.” 

Crowley took off his glasses and set them aside on the desk so he could rub his tired eyes. He was missing something. He had to have been. There was some detail to all this, all of the levels they had been through included, that they hadn’t seen yet. He was missing something.

It could be small, possibly insignificant. Something lost in the background of all the big dramatic moments. Something.

“I can’t fucking see it!” Crowley wailed in frustration, slamming his fists down on the writing desk. His glasses skidded up against one of the five books Aziraphale had littered on his desk and it moved as he brushed his knuckles against it while retrieving them. 

_ Finally _ , another clue. He picked up the book and laughed.

“Language of bloody flowers?!” he exclaimed. “Aziraphale, you sodding nerd.”

Chortling to himself, Crowley collected the card once more and started looking up the flowers mentioned in the message. 

Acacia blossom, arbutus, and camellia, daffodil, gardenia, primrose. 

Crowley sank into the chair as he read, a puzzled frown settling over his face. There did seem to be a theme developing here but it seemed too far fetched to be believed. Aziraphale  _ couldn't _ have been _ in love with him _ … not with a demon! He'd misread it, right? He  _ must  _ have misread it.

His heart beat faster and faster as he went over it again. They didn't mean love. A rose maybe but not the rest. No.

And yet… they did.

“Angel… Is this…?” he stopped himself, unable to give voice to something so preposterous, even if this Aziraphale couldn’t hear him.

He sighed and flipped towards the end of the book —  _ ‘roses’ _ — shaking his head in disbelief. He came to the last item and his eyes widened.

“Heavenly gates…” he breathed. There it was, in plain English.

_ Moss Rose: Confession of Love _ .

********

"Say it again," Aziraphale begged, leaning over the table. The sozzled demon muttered to himself, head still firmly connected to the laminate tabletop. "Oh, you said it once, didn't you? Just say it again."

"Time to head home, mate," came a gruff voice from behind him. Aziraphale looked up to see the man who had been stationed behind the bar all night. Crowley raised his head slightly, one bleary yellow eyes barely variable above the rim of his glasses. 

"You're far past drunk, friend," the man told Crowley. "Time to go sleep it off, eh? Can I call you a cab?"

"Bar human!" Crowley hiccupped. "Less talking. More alcohol!"

"Go home," the bar human demanded. Crowley growled and Aziraphale held his breath.

"Never really had one of those," Crowley told him, badly slurring the s. "I'd turn your bloody fingers inside out but th'angel would... wouldn't like it."

"My thanks to the angel for my fingers," the man deadpanned. "Please leave."

"Yeh, all right," Crowley muttered, swaying his way to mostly standing. "You're ale is plonk anyway."

The bartender's mouth curved into an angry scowl and Aziraphale cringed as Crowley turned smartly on his heel and promptly walked into the wall.

*********

Crowley's hands were shaking so badly it was getting a little hard to read. Fortunately at this point he had memorized the entries dictating the meanings behind acacia blossom, arbutus, and camellia, daffodil, gardenia, primrose. 

  
  


"How?" he whispered. "How could you possibly love  _ me _ ?"

He dropped the book back on the writing desk and joined the angel, sitting on the chair Aziraphale usually occupied when they sat here together. It seemed that tonight their positions were reversed as the angel was still somewhat reclined on the sofa. 

Aziraphale had switched from cocoa to wine and looked rumpled and tired now that he was midway through the second bottle. He had no answers for Crowley, but Crowley asked him anyway.

"I'm not good, Angel," he told him. "I'm not  _ worthy. _ "

Aziraphale huffed, his expression turned bitter at whatever thought he was brooding over. Crowley closed his fist over the card, then swore and flattened the creases out against his thigh with his palm. 

Acacia blossom, arbutus, and camellia, daffodil, gardenia, primrose: 

_ Concealed Love, Thee Only Do I Love, You're a Flame in My Heart, Unequalled Love, You're the Only One, The Sun is Always Shining When I'm with You, Secret Love, I Can't Live without You. _

Moss Rose: __

_ A confession of love. _

  
  


"You stood there," Crowley murmured. "You stood there in the park and told me you didn't even  _ like _ me. I knew you were lying. I knew you  _ cared  _ but…" He didn't know the extent of it, the  _ magnitude  _ of the lie.

"Did it hurt you as much to say it, as it hurt to hear it?" Crowley asked, acknowledging the injury for the first time.

Aziraphale poured himself another too-full glass and Crowley sighed, smiling sadly at the miserable angel.

"Look at you, you soppy git." He wished he had a too-full glass of his own and remembered how much of a mess he himself was at this time last year. "How could we have been so stupid?" Crowley laughed mirthlessly.

The bookshop shimmered around him, a familiar dissolving feeling washing over him.

"Shit!" Crowley shouted, bolting to his feet. His glasses were still on the writing desk. He stumbled over his own feet in his haste to get to them, reaching out to snatch them up as he fell. His fingers passed  _ through _ them and he swore again as he tumbled down some unforgiving stone steps.

************

"And sometimes they're halz...hasss...  _ hazel _ ! Crowley slurred. "Dependsss on the light. Sssunset. They go hazel at sunset."

"Pretty," the bartender offered politely. The man had kindly sat down after picking Crowley up off the floor and setting him back in the booth. He'd called Crowley a cab and sat with him while they waited.

Aziraphale appreciated the man's sense of civic responsibility, but mostly Aziraphale was floating on a happy cloud, resting his chin in his hands. Crowley had just spent ten minutes going on about his eyes and, despite the slurring, it was incredibly romantic.

"Don't go see him tonight," the bartender told Crowley firmly. Crowley sat back, blowing wet air through his lips, and Aziraphale frowned at the man, suddenly no longer fond.  _ Of course  _ Crowley should come to him! 

"You're plastered, mate," the man said. "Last thing you should do is show up at this hour, on Christmas Eve no less, and start honking all over his shoes. You're clearly in love with this ‘angel’ of yours."

Aziraphale felt his cheeks flush, his heart was racing. This  _ couldn't _ be true, could it? Demon's weren't supposed to be capable of love! And anyway, Aziraphale would have sensed it, wouldn't he? Of course, his  _ own  _ love was rather distracting whenever he was around the demon, but still… he'd have surely noticed, wouldn't he? Crowley  _ couldn’t  _ be in love with him.

"I  _ am _ ," Crowley groaned, and Aziraphale gasped in shocked delight. "I  _ am _ ! Ffffuck me! I'm in so much trouble!"

"He married?"

"Heremidary emeny," Crowley explained badly. "Hemeditary… sodding  _ opposite sides! _ "

"We're on our own side now," Aziraphale whispered, wishing he could take Crowley's hand. 

_ Oh Holy Night _ began to play on the radio as the bartender helped Crowley out to the waiting cab. Aziraphale followed, glancing at the poor Bentley and hoping Crowley would sober up before he came back for it.

"Go home, all right?" The bartender reminded him. "You're no good to the man like this."

"I’m no good either way," Crowley lamented as the door shut. Aziraphale quickly wished himself into the cab just as it pulled away from the kerb.

"You  _ are  _ good, Crowley," Aziraphale told the pie-eyed demon. "You're good to me. I should have paid closer attention. I saw the  _ big  _ acts, the rescues and you saving my books. But you're good in all the little ways too."

Aziraphale smiled, thinking about how clear those kindnesses had become through all these festive-themed trials. He'd known he loved Crowley romantically for centuries. He'd loved him as a cherished friend even longer than that. He'd  _ tried  _ not to. He'd tried to stop loving Crowley just as Crowley had clearly tried to stop loving him. 

"Well," he laughed. "Aren't we a right pair of daft idiots?" 

The cab turned a corner with nearly the same velocity and abruptness Aziraphale expected from the Bentley. He was flung to the side, through the cab door! Aziraphale barely had time to scream before he hit the street and began rolling painfully down a flight of stone steps.

  
  
  


  
  
  
  



	12. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves in a mysterious study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter!
> 
> This was written and posted via my phone so I apologize if it is messier than usual.

Crowley landed awkwardly at the bottom of the steep flight of stairs and decided to take a moment to assess his injuries, and once again contemplate the merits of giving up. 

It didn't have quite the appeal it once did.

"Narrow stone spiral staircase… a castle maybe? A fort?"

Crowley sat up to get his bearings. He was at the bottom of the staircase, so there wasn't danger of falling further at least. He rubbed his sore head. Wherever he was, it was dripping with scents and trappings of a medievel Christmastime. The doorway to what seemed like a large private library was framed with long ropes of red and white pine boughs swayed slightly in the breeze from the open window.

Swags of Holly branches decorated the window behind him, its blood-red berries peeked out of the dark greenery. It was believed to protect the grounds from demons and other evil spirits. Crowley always found it pretty.

A bright flash of light erupted up the steps, blinded Crowley for a moment before he heard Aziraphale cry out. The light winked out and Crowley was promptly flattened by the angel as he came rolling down the steps just as he had before.

Crowley had never been so happy to get concussed.

"Angel!" he wheezed. "Welcome back!"

"Oh! Crowley!" Aziraphale quickly rolled off the demon, looking badly flustered. "I'm sorry dear. I don't quite understand what just happened."

Aziraphale stood and Crowley groaned as the angel pulled him to his feet. His groan cut off abruptly when Aziraphale folded him into his arms, holding Crowley snugly against his chest.

"I'm happy to see you, dear," the angel sighed, his breath warm against Crowley's hair. "Even happier to be seen," he added, a note of bitterness and Crowley pulled away to look at him.

"You were a 'ghost of Christmas past' too?" Crowley asked, suddenly deeply concerned about what the angel might have seen. "Were you with _me_? What year was it?"

"Yes, yes again, and it was last year," Aziraphale answered wryly. 

Fuck. He was a bloody mess last year. "Oh… that was… nnn…" Crowley decided not to bother with that sentence. Whatever Aziraphale saw was going to be humiliating. No reason to go over it again. He strode into the library, hoping to hide his embarrassment.

He heard Aziraphale follow him in, already taking in the books with a soft gasp.

"Oh, this is lovely, isn't it?" Aziraphale breathed.

The large room _wasn't_ a library after all, despite being lined with bookshelves. A feasting table sat in the centre and a fireplace crackled happily behind them. The far wall opened up into a massive enclosed terrace, covered in creeping juniper, beyond a wall made entirely of heavy iron and glass windows. Several telescopes dating from various periods of human history were set up for viewing the night sky.

"Wot d'you think?" Crowley asked, immediately going to one of the telescopes. "Sancusto's study?"

"I'm not sure," Aziraphale replied. Perhaps at one time? These books are predominantly works of fiction. An odd choice considering the observatory."

"Yeah, well. Our lich is an odd duck," Crowley grumbled. 

"I assume the stars are still wrong?" Aziraphale stated, still perusing the shelves.

"Haven't even bothered to look," Crowley snorted. "Obviously still in a bloody trial."

"The food smells lovely," Aziraphale sighed and Crowley saw the angel cast a wistful look at the heaps of roast and fresh rolls and other delicious looking feast foods. 

"Probably not wise to indulge," Crowley warned, although he suspected the angel already knew that. The wine in the ornate goblets did look enticing though.

"Books and stars," Aziraphale said softly. Crowley tore his eyes away from the wine and looked at the angel, captivated at once by the gentle smile. "Well, it's _us_ , isn't it?" Aziraphale told him.

"Suppose so," Crowley shrugged. He still felt odd discussing his interest in astronomy. It touched too close to his time before.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale looked thoughtful then. "Last year… did you go to a pub?"

"Uh… Yeh. Went to lots of pubs last year," Crowley answered, instinctively playing dumb. "We should look for clues eh? On what we have to do to get out of here?" He turned away from Aziraphale and made a show of examining an old telescope. He really didn't want to discuss his lonely drunken Christmas.

"You um… you told me you were tempting souls at a corporate holiday party," Aziraphale continued softly.

"Telescopes are from different centuries," Crowley replied louder than necessary. "Could that mean something, do you think?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale's voice was taking on that whinging note that meant Crowley wasn't going to be allowed to ignore this.

"I lied 'bout the party, Angel," he grumbled, refusing to look up from the telescope. "Dunno wot the big deal is. Can't you let it go?"

"I can't help but wonder why you wouldn't have rather spent it with me," Aziraphale shrugged, drifting closer to Crowley and shrinking his protective bubble with each step.

"Mmmeuugh… ssss' this bloody season's always been hard," Crowley waving a hand towards all the festive greenery. "All the soppy sentimental bollocks about family and friendship. S'not exactly in a demon's wheelhouse, issit?"

"You're consistently outside a typical demon's wheelhouse, my dear," Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley laughed.

"Well, I dunno 'bout 'consistently'," Crowley argued. "Point is, it wos a bad night. Would've ruined it for you by being a wet blanket."

"No, that's not it," Aziraphale replied, his eyes shining. "You _adore_ being a wet blanket, Crowley. I honestly think complaining is your very favourite thing."

"Shaddup," Crowley growled. "Can we look for clues now please?" Aziraphale watched him quietly for a moment until Crowley finally glared at him. 

"I think this _might_ be a clue, Crowley," the angel murmured. "That underlying thread to all of this. It's _us_."

Crowley frowned in confusion and Aziraphale gestured again between the shelves and the telescopes. The books and the stars. 

"I don't understand," Crowley scowled. "I don't know about _you_ , but I'm positive that _I'm_ not doing this."

"You haven't found yourself thinking about…" Aziraphale paused, lost for the correct words. That alone was a rare event. "The nature of our relationship?"

Crowley had, of course, but thinking was one thing. _Talking_ about those thoughts was another, much more dangerous thing. 

He stalked over to the nearest bookshelf to look for clues himself since Aziraphale was busy daydreaming. 

"Here's the bloody reference section, Angel," he called out, finding several astronomy texts and scientific journals. "Looking a bit more like a study — " he cut off abruptly when he spotted the botany textbook Aziraphale had meant to give him last year. Beside it, neat as could be, was the book on the language of flowers.

"Did you find something?" Aziraphale asked, joining him. Crowley took up the two books and turned, holding them out.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, then his grey eyes darted up to meet Crowley's curious gaze before quickly looking away.

"I'm not quite sure what you're—" Aziraphale began.

" _Moss_ _roses_ ," Crowley squeaked, and wished it had come out a bit stronger. Aziraphale blinked again and Crowley quickly cleared his throat and tried again. "The card. You wrote a card with… with flowers and…"

"Oh," Aziraphale's face crumpled with embarrassment for a moment. "Oh, I thought I was being clever... "

"I would grow them," Crowley shrugged, trying for casual, but his heart in his throat and he immediately hated himself for saying it. Aziraphale just looked confused.

"Grow… flowers?" Aziraphale questioned and Crowley winced. "You hate flowers."

"I would… the moss rose…" Crowley's cheeks felt like they were on fire. "I'd...shit! I'd grow the bloody moss roses for you," he bit out. "If _you_ wanted me to."

"Oh?' Aziraphale blinked owlishly now and Crowley was considering jumping off the terrace. 

"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed, finally cottoning on. His cheeks were now as pink as Crowley knew his own were. "Right. The book on floriography. You... deciphered my message."

"Think so, yeah," Crowley mumbled. "Hhhope so, anyway."

"I was afraid to tell you outright. I was terrified of driving you off. The world was in the balance a—"

"Would have been a nightmare, sure," Crowley nodded, still not 100% sure they were talking about the same thing. "Me brushing you off was probably the best thing, really. For the world, I mean."

"For the world," Aziraphale echoed weakly and then neither of them said anything for about a minute and then they both spoke at once.

"You told the barman you loved me," Aziraphale said.

"You said moss roses grow well in pots," said Crowley.

They looked at each other awkwardly again.

"They do," Aziraphale sighed, looking away.

"I do," Crowley admitted, looking at his feet.

"You love me?" Aziraphale whispered, forcing Crowley to glance up at him briefly before nodding. 

"You… the message said—" Crowley stammered, terrified of the rejection he assumed was coming. He had it wrong. He'd made a mistake. He'd ruined everything.

"I love you, Crowley," Aziraphale laughed. "It was a love letter, clearly."

"Ngk."

Crowley wasn't prepared for that. He fell back into his old patterns.

"Pffft," the principality of Earth in love with a _demon_?" Crowley mocked. "How embarrassing for you. I mean, you're an _angel_! S'not that shocking I'd love you, but other way round is just… ssssordid, innit?"

"Oh, no. I think your humiliation far exceeds mine, my dear," Aziraphale smirked." Demons aren't supposed to be capable of love at all, and yet here's the Serpent of Eden, in love with the enemy. Terrible example to demon-kind."

"Yeh, well, I'm s'posed to break the rules, Angel," Crowley shot back. "You're s'posed to be obedient. Turned into quite the rebel, didn't you?"

"And you, Crowley, turned out to be very _nice_ ," Aziraphale responded smugly. 

Crowley hissed, halting their little game as he instinctively recoiled at the word. Aziraphale laughed and Crowley scowled at him.

"M'not," he growled.

"You are to _me_ ," Aziraphale's smile was gentle now. "And you've finally told me why and immediately retreated into a silly game of repartee. 

"Maybe…" Crowley shrugged. "Rude of you to point it out though."

"My apologies for my rudeness." Aziraphale didn't sound sorry at all. "Did you still want to look for clues to escape this level?"

"Yes, Angel. I, for one, would like to get back to the real world at some point," Crowley grumbled. He hated being made this vulnerable. He'd finally heard Aziraphale saw the words he'd longed to hear for 6,000 years and he had no idea what to do.

"Have you looked _up_?" Aziraphale asked innocently. 

Crowley made a confused noise, distracted by his own thoughts. Aziraphale blushed slightly once more and chuckled lightly, before pointing to the ceiling.

Crowley swallowed a sudden surge of dread and looked up.

The ceiling was domed in heavy clear glass that would have given a beautiful view of the night sky if it weren't completely overtaken by mistletoe. Crowley swallowed again, feeling the now familiar warmth in his cheeks once more.

The entire fucking dome. Complete filled with greenery and little white berries. 

"Might be a clue," Aziraphale shrugged.

" _Fuck_ _me_ …" Crowley breathed, still in shock.

"I believe a kiss is traditionally sufficient," Aziraphale coughed. Crowley arched a brow at that little comment. Aziraphale stepped towards him and Crowley fell back a step. Aziraphale frowned, hurt.

"I can't," Crowley sighed. "I want to, but I can't… I can't _kiss_ you because of some sodding trial, Angel. I can't pretend it's just some bullshit I have to do. I can't pretend it won't change things."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale laughed softly, reaching up to touch his cheek, and bless him if it wasn't the warmest touch Crowley had ever felt. He nearly fell to his knees.

"I rather think this is going to change _everything_ ," Aziraphale whispered before brushing his lips against Crowley's. 

Crowley startled, his brain stuttering at the softness of the angel's lips. He froze in place, heart thundering in his chest. His skin felt too tight. His vision blurred under the sudden welling of tears.

_Gonna_ _ruin_ _it_ _gonna_ _ruin_ _it_ _gonna_ _ruin_ _it…_

Aziraphale kissed him again and Crowley's stuttering brain gave up on the fear and shock and settled on _this_ _this_ _this_...

He melted closer to the angel, giving in to the rightness of the embrace. His hands shook as he reached up to gently cup Aziraphale's shoulders and he sighed in relief when the angel responded by wrapping his strong arms around his waist. 

He let his eyes drift closed, steeped in the sweet pleasure of this moment, this deepening kiss. He couldn't even manage his usual inward cringe at his own humiliating weakness as he trembled in Aziraphale's arms. 

Because it was no longer fear that shook him so. It was excitement and awe. It was the raw power thrumming between them stretching forwards and backwards through time, soothing old hurts, and lessening those yet to come.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale closer, opening for him, begging with fingertips, and gasped eager breaths ' _take_ _me_ _as_ _I_ _am_ , _just_ _bitter_ _and_ _sick_ _as_ _I_ _am_. _Love_ _me_ , _please_. _Love_ _me_.

Aziraphale held him just as tightly, golden tears rolling down his cheeks as he smiled into another searing kiss that answered, ' _yes_. _I_ _have_. _I_ _do_. _I_ _will_.'

***********

Crowley opened his eyes, blinking at the rudeness of the sunlight. Aziraphale was stirring beside him, a sweet sleepy sigh escaping his lips.

They were in the Bentley, the engine running, heater keeping them warm. The sun was shining brightly down onto the pond, making the tracks from their skates glow in swirls of gold.

"Angel," Crowley croaked, nudging the cozy heap of beige wool. "Wake up."

Aziraphale woke reluctantly at first, then bolted upright in his seat, blinking wide blue eyes.

"Are we out? Are we back?" he asked, confused. Crowley shrugged. There were no stars out to judge the rightness or wrongness. Just a feeling of normalcy to suggest, maybe they were free.

He drove away from the pond, along the country road and onto another road and another. He drove all the way to London, then to Soho. He parked in front of the shop and walked the angel in.

No snow monsters, skeletons, reindeer or ghosts. Everything seemed in order.

"Can I tempt you to stay for a while?" Aziraphale asked him nervously.

"Temptation accomplished," Crowley smirked, loving the grin he got from his angel.

"If this is real… if we're truly free of that dreadful game," Aziraphale began as he prepared some tea. "I propose we never go ice skating again."

"I dunno," Crowley drawled, leaning against the worktop. "Wossn't _all_ bad."

Aziraphale smiled and abandoned his kettle to join Crowley, pressing him further against the counter.

"Very true," he murmured before soundly kissing Crowley until the demon's knees began to give out.

**********

Ghost stories used to be a common part of many Yuletide traditions. This is not a ghost story.

Ghosts are echoes of what has been, and though they may indeed have things to teach us, some lessons require a firmer touch. 

Sancusto watched from the trees as the black Bentley drove away at top speed. The owl perched on his shoulder hooted a question and the old elf nodded. He shook out his sleeves and smiled as the dusty rags of his glamour dissolved in the sparkling sunlight to reveal his fine red wool coat. He pulled his cap out of his deep pocket and set it atop his white curls, the scratched behind his beloved reindeer's ear as they turned back to the silent woods.

The seasons were getting harder on the elf, and he had seen so many of them. Centuries of fulfilling wishes and sowing festive magic. He'd never had the privilege of giving a gift to an angel or a demon before.

And these two only ever seemed to have wanted one thing. A shame they were both so cynical they needed to be hit over the heads with their gift before they could accept they had it all along.

Still, it was a refreshing change of pace for the elf, and he wasn't yet so old that he didn't enjoy a challenge.


End file.
